Chocociology
by fxkoala
Summary: Alternate Universe of CatCF movie in which Mister Willy Wonka never held his Golden Ticket contest. A very ordinary and usual boy bumps into a very extraordinary and unusual man.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Prologue**

Charlie Bucket was an ordinary boy, neither stronger, nor faster, nor cleverer than any other child his age. His hair was an ordinary brown, neither too dark nor too light, neither too short nor too long. His eyes were green or they were brown or they were gray or they were blue, for they seemed to be rather undecided about color and changed with Charlie's emotions. He was not too tall (except for his pants) or too short or too heavy, but was perhaps too skinny He was from a poor, but loving family which lived in a tiny ramshackle house in a modest little city that was neither too big nor too small. The little city's claim to fame was the presence of the largest chocolate factory in the world – the Wonka Candy Company. Charlie loved that factory dearly. He loved the lines of its tall, tall smokestacks. He even loved the curves of its protective gates which kept the entire world out, including him. Most of all, he loved the wonderful scents that drifted down from its towering heights. They were the most scrumptious, sweet and soothing scents he had ever smelled. He loved it so dearly that he had made a model of the factory out of broken and warped toothpaste caps which his father brought home from his job as a cap-screwer at a small toothpaste factory.

Little Charlie had lived in the shadow of that marvelous factory, inhaling those glorious, amazing odors for his whole life. He could not imagine a life without that colossal, magical building in it. He could no more imagine that than he could imagine life without his family – his mother and father, his Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine, his Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina. The factory, the factory's smells, his parents and grandparents had been constant and **there** for as long as he could remember - there since the first day of his first sweet breath when his adoring parents had brought him home.

However, his Grandpa Joe had told him that this was **not **always so. Grandpa Joe remembered, oh how much he remembered! He even recalled when there was no factory at all. This was a great astonishment for Charlie. No chocolate factory? Unthinkable! But his grandfather said it was so, which meant that once upon a time, it **must **have been true. Even more importantly to Charlie, Grandpa Joe knew when the factory was first built, when it opened, when it was closed ("How horrible!" Charlie had thought silently) and he **_had even known Mister Willy Wonka_**! He had once worked for the man himself, first in his candy shop and later in his factory. He was still working there right up until the day it was closed - FOREVER!

But it hadn't been forever at all, because it was working right now. Mysteriously functioning, with no people going in or out, except for the Wonka delivery trucks (and Charlie knew, because he had looked extra, extra hard, that no one knew who was driving those trucks because the drivers could not be seen). Willy Wonka was a great and wondrous and tremendous mystery for Charlie Bucket, more of a myth than a real man. For, you see, Willy Wonka had not set foot, or shown face or hair, outside of his factory since before Charlie's birth. The only proof he had of that great man's existence was his delicious candy (which Charlie could smell all year long but only taste once a year on his birthday) and his grandfather's tales.

Now there were no more stories though and Charlie was a very sad, lonely boy. Because, this past spring, just as things were getting warmer and the Buckets were starting to breath easier, having survived another cold winter in their too cold home, Grandma Georgina had suddenly died. As if they couldn't survive without each other, Grandpa George swiftly followed her, then Grandma Josephine, then Grandpa Joe. Charlie was heartbroken, though he tried to hide it from his grieving parents, not wanting to add to their already overburdened shoulders. His only consolation was the chocolate factory. He went by it every single day going to and from school, and he always stopped to inhale the warm, delicious scents. He thought if he closed eyes and concentrated extremely hard he could actually taste the chocolate on his lips. Then having drawn in what strength and courage that he could, he would rush to school (to face the lessons and bullies of the day) or rush home to do his chores and homework.


	2. Chapter 1 First Encounter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter One – First Encounter**

Charlie looked over his shoulder, his feet pounding hard on the path through the park, trying to locate the bigger boys that were chasing him. He felt a twinge of despair, knowing there was no way he could out race his tormentors and soon, too soon, he would be aching again. From bruises, scrapes and, even worse, his mother would have to mend his pants and shirt (Again!) for the holes and tears that he would acquire as soon as they closed on him. He was so focused on what was behind him that he didn't notice what was in front of him.

The collision was a terrible shock. Charlie gasped as he started to fall backwards, now certain he was doomed to be kicked as well as beaten, when a hand, encased in a purple glove, reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him forward. It held him steady while the boy regained his balance and his breath. The brown haired boy whirled around, desperately looking for his pursuers, unknowingly pressing against a plum red velvet frockcoat. Greenish brown eyes blinked in surprise to see his tormenters fleeing in the other direction. Wide eyed, Charlie bent his head back, looking up to see a man towering above him, staring after the disappearing boys with a frown thinning his lips. Charlie jumped away with a gasp as he realized exactly what or rather who he had collided with.

"I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to run into you! I'm so sorry!" He trembled from the adrenaline coursing through his veins and bit his lower lip as he mentally berated his lack of attention. This man was obviously a fine gentleman, though curiously dressed. He wouldn't appreciate grubby boys running into him, almost knocking him down and getting him dirty.

The pale, serious face tilted to one side as he looked down at Charlie, the frown softening as his corners of his mouth turned up faintly. He tapped his cane gently on the pavement of the path and tipped his top hat ever so slightly. The boy blinked and attempted to see past the shadow of the brim that hid the man's eyes, trying to determine if the stranger was angry with him.

Standing a couple of feet away from the man, Charlie no longer felt as if he was being towered over. In spite of the solemn face looking at him, he suddenly didn't feel threatened at all. "I really am sorry, sir," the eleven year old boy said politely.

The man bowed from his waist, leaning on his cane, in response to the repeated apology, not saying a word. He then stood up very straight, both hands resting easily on the black and white swirled ball that was the head of the cane.

Charlie found this very strange indeed, but took it as forgiveness for rudely running into the gentleman. "Good day, sir," the boy said, trying to mimic the bow the man had given him. He stepped away, one step, two steps, then was trotting toward the road that went up the hill to the chocolate factory. A glow of gratitude filled his lonely heart as he realized the stranger, however unintentionally, had spared him from having to explain yet another beating to his mother and father.

The silent man watched the boy run up the hill, his head once more tilting to one side. That was the only sign of his curiosity. He remained standing there, the faintest of trembles running almost continuously through his straight, slender frame, as Charlie inhaled several deep breaths then turned to run down the road toward his home. A gloved hand reached up to stroke his pale chin thoughtfully as he turned to face the path of the park. With the slightest of shrugs, he pushed away thoughts of the boy and started walking once more. The silence of the afternoon was broken only by bird song, the soft rap of his cane on the cement pavement and the click of the stacked heels of his fine black boots.

Chores and homework done, dinner (Cabbage again, his family always had cabbage.) over, Charlie scrambled up the crooked ladder to the little attic that served as his bedroom. He lay back on his pillow, one arm bent under his head, looking thoughtfully at the Wonka chocolate wrappers he had tacked to the walls. The holes in the floor had been covered by old doors, salvaged from other old, worn out houses before they were demolished. Beyond the head of his bed, it was open and he could look out and over to where his parents were on the sagging couch. Once if he had looked he would have seen his grandparents, probably sleeping, four to the bed that had been in the middle of the room - Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine on one end, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina on the opposite end. Charlie hastily shoved aside the memory. He didn't want to cry right now and he knew he would if he kept thinking about it. Crying was for after the lights went out and his parents were also in bed. He knew if he looked right this moment, his father would be reading a library book and his mother would be mending something, possibly a sock or a shirt or even a sweater. (It was a good thing for Charlie Bucket that he was not afraid of heights.)

Searching for a distraction from his sad memories, Charlie's mind drifted back to the odd man he had literally run into that afternoon. No longer afraid of bullies or seeming rude, he could remember things more clearly and take notice of them. He picked up an old pad of paper filled with last year's school work and one of his pencils. He turned it over and tapped it thoughtfully, deciding he wanted to record the memory of the encounter. He found, for some reason he didn't really understand, that he did not want to forget the curious looking gentleman. Perhaps, he could become the subject of an English assignment one day (For his teachers would assign them the oddest things to do!). So it was Charlie Bucket cataloged the things that he remembered in writing and, in doing so, found he had noticed more than he had first thought.

A rich, deep plum red coat made out of velvet that had felt so very soft on his skin. He could not remember ever touching anything so soft! It was long enough to just reach the gentleman's knees and not a speck longer. There had been pinstripes, he was sure of it, thin stripes of a light creamy color, white or perhaps a very pale, almost not there green or the palest of pink. On his head was a top hat, black with a wide ribbon band of a raised check pattern, trimmed with the same color as the man's coat. A black vest with… yes, rows of buttons down both sides. (Not double breasted like Grandpa George's good suit had been though.) He also had a chain across his vest and hanging down, perhaps for a pocket watch? (He remembered when Grandpa Joe had owned a pocket watch. The watch had been long gone to help pay for feeding and clothing Charlie's family.) It had been a very long gold chain. Under the vest was a black shirt with a multi-colored pattern, paisley or something similar. He chewed on his pencil thoughtfully as he tried to remember the colors – blue, lime green, purple, red like his coat, pink? He wasn't sure about the pink. There had been a glint of gold at his throat as well, a pin perhaps? Black pants with very straight creases on the legs and black shoes. And the gloves! They were definitely purple, there was no doubting that.

Charlie scratched his head in bewilderment. Who dressed like that on a nice day like today had been? It had been warm, but not too warm, and sunny as well, a beautiful first day of autumn. Why the coat? Okay, he could see the coat... maybe. Lots of business men wore coats all year round, though he had never seen one in such a rich color or fabric or that style. He had seen them in their business suits on the streets when he was running errands for his mum. And a vest? Didn't bankers wear vests all the time? Did that mean the gentleman was a banker? Oh! But bankers were known to be… What was the word? Con conser conserative? No, that didn't sound right… Conservative! Was that it? He looked down and pulled out his tattered paperback dictionary, paging through it to check. Yes, that was the right word – conservative. The stranger was not conservative at all considering the way he was dressed. He seemed… old fashioned, except for the colors, with his long coat, top hat and cane.

The cane… What had the cane looked like? It had a large ball on the top, kind of like a super sized marble, black and white stripes twisted around it. He was pretty sure it also had a black tip. In between, it had been different. It had seemed clear like plastic or glass and filled with little colored thingies… But what were they? He really wasn't sure. He giggled as he thought of another Wonka candy. He always ate the chocolate bars when he could have candy (just once a year on his birthday) and had never tried any of the other candies. Still, he had seen some at school that, thinking about it, seemed remarkably like what was in that cane. He giggled again, a huge grin forming on his face. A candy cane! He almost convulsed, thinking that now he was just being silly as he smothered his laughter, not wanting to disturb his parents.

Sobering up just a little bit, Charlie went back to remembering his gentleman. He couldn't help himself thinking like that. It was like the stranger was his own special discovery, which was nonsense really, but still his parents didn't know about the encounter and the only other people who had been there were those bullies (Students from a grade year higher than his) who had run away. Because they had run away, that meant they didn't really count. So the man was his in a way that he wasn't anybody else's.

Deciding that was as much as he could remember about the way he had dressed, Charlie now turned his attention to the man himself. A pale face, the only skin he'd actually seen, was the man's face and neck, every other inch was covered. White, but not albino white like their science teacher had talked about in school, more… What? Was he a pallid white like somebody who never, ever went outside? A sickly white like somebody who had been ill for a very, very long time? A sallow white like the bottom of the lizard they had in the tank in his homeroom? A porcelain white like the doll his Grandma Georgina had described once? He liked the porcelain description best; he decided it sounded much nicer than the others, so he wrote that down on his list after checking his dictionary again. Yes, the porcelain was much better especially after he remembered how the color of his lips had stood out against his pale skin, just like Grandma Georgina had described the doll. It had almost looked like he was wearing a rosy lipstick, but that was ridiculous because whoever heard of a man wearing lipstick. Charlie wondered if all lips would look like that if everybody was as fair as that man was. Yes, that made sense he decided. Any color would stand out more set against such a pale background.

Because of the shadow of the hat's brim, it had been impossible to see the man's eyes. He wished he had seen them, thinking it would be very important to note his eye color. That was what they did in police reports. But he hadn't so that was that. His face had been… nice, if too serious and solemn. And it was only now, as Charlie remembered his lips turning up in a tiny almost not there smile, that he remembered the man's hair. Too long really, the ends of the strands flipping in just as it reached the man's chin, somehow framing his face, especially when combined with the upturned collar of his coat and shirt. It should have seemed girlish, but somehow it didn't. The hair color was brown, which didn't really do it justice as Charlie thought it over. There had been chocolate in that hair, dark and milk chocolate along with something redder. Like a fox? No, that was too red. Like a sorrel horse? Maybe it was auburn like Mom? Close, but he wistfully wished he could just call it chocolate. He glanced at the picture he had drawn of the factory, and then on impulse flipped through his dictionary again, looking for the definition of chocolate. He had never even considered looking up chocolate before. Chocolate was just chocolate. That had always seemed enough definition for him. Oh! Reddish brown! Cool! He could now say the man had chocolate hair, all different colors of chocolate, the brown kind, not that white stuff. Somehow the white stuff didn't seem like real chocolate. Bitter water! Yuck! There wasn't anything bitter about any of the chocolate he'd eaten. What a weird origin for such a special word!

Charlie chewed on his pencil as he reviewed his list. What else was there to add? Oh yes! Police reports always included things like height and weight and build and age, so he thought he should add those things as well. Height? Well, the man had seemed really tall, but somehow he thought part of that was his hat. It had been a tall hat. Charlie thought that he had come to almost, but not quite, the man's shoulders and that his dad was taller. Not a lot taller, just a little taller. So the man was about six feet tall. Then he remembered his shoes had a heel on them so he subtracted a little for that and decided he was most definitely less than six feet tall. In fact, Charlie thought he would be just past the man's shoulders if they hadn't been wearing their shoes. This pleased Charlie, not because the man was shorter than he first believed, but because it meant he was being observant, like his teachers were always encouraging them. In fact, his favorite teacher last year had said to him, "Charlie, a person who always keeps their eyes and ears open will go far. And I don't mean the things you **think** you've seen or heard. People who **really** see and hear the world around them and remember those things objectively instead of subjectively have an advantage. Observation is an important key, especially when it comes to understanding people."

Continuing his observation and memory, Charlie didn't have a clue how to guess the man's weight. How did you determine weight without asking someone to stand on a scale? The only thing he really knew was that the man was not overweight. He might even have been underweight, because he had a slim body. Slender and slick, Charlie thought, like an otter, but not playful like one. He had stood straight and proud like a soldier. The boy remembered being told to sit up straight and don't slouch by more than one adult. He couldn't imagine anyone saying that to this man. _He probably has always had perfect posture_, Charlie thought. He put a question mark next to weight and wrote his observations down, only to realize that they should have gone under build so he scrawled that in a tight scribble over his latest notes.

This brought Charlie to the question of the man's age. Was he as old as his parents? He chewed his pencil as he thought. He certainly didn't seem much older or a great deal younger and yet. And yet there was something else. Charlie wasn't sure what that something was. It wasn't something that he could touch or point at and say this is it. It was something that stayed just out of reach of his thoughts and memories. With a sigh, the boy wrote down another question mark.

Charlie read through his list and notes again, trying to be objective. Well, it wasn't a perfect list by any means, still it was pretty good, especially for the short time the meeting had lasted. He stared out of a hole in the ceiling toward the chocolate factory. Maybe, just maybe, he should do this more often. Maybe he should pick out some stranger that he saw and later write down a description every day. The exercise would improve his observations and that would be a good thing, because then he might understand people better. Because right now, he hardly understood a lot of the things they did at all. Like, why did those bullies chase him? He hadn't done anything to them or said anything about them. He didn't even know them! Maybe by observing and writing it all down, he would eventually understand and then he might be able to do something to stop it. Besides tattling that is! Nobody liked tattle tales.


	3. Chapter 2 Further Sightings

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

(AN: To my reviewers, thank you for your kind words and encouragement. I hope that you will continue to enjoy and that you will forgive me when the chapters slow down upon my return to Real Life, i.e. work, next week.)

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Chapter Two – Further Sightings**

Charlie Bucket walked down the park's path looking around for a person to observe. Not seeing anyone, his attention turned to the colors of the leaves that were just starting to change on the trees. Knowing he had a bit less homework to do that evening, he detoured to a bench near the street and sat down. He kept looking for a subject for his next exercise in observation as he perched as quietly as a mouse with a cat nearby. Suddenly a flash of color in the park caught his eye and he straightened up, only to see the same man he had run into on the day before.

The man's coat had changed color and so had the trim on his hat, but otherwise, he looked just the same. In fact the blue was the only difference that Charlie could see from his remoter observation post. It was a very rich, regal looking blue, not too dark or too light or too bright. The boy watched the man, his (c_andy_, Charlie giggled silently) cane tap, tap, tapping down the path, as he walked. It came to him that there was something off in those steps. One leg seemed just a touch out of step with the other. Instead of walking with almost military precision, as Charlie expected given his perfect posture, the man was walking with a limp. (The fact of the matter was that the vast majority of people would never have noticed that limp at all. The man was taking great care to walk firmly and, as nearly as he could which was a very close thing, normally. This showed the potential for great acuity in young Bucket.) The boy nodded to himself, thinking that this explained the presence of the cane.

As he walked, the man's head turned slowly left to right and back again. Periodically, he would stop and apparently stare at a particularly promising start to the fall colors. It was almost like watching a child who was only just now old enough to notice and wonder about the season's change. Charlie believed this was an unreasonable thought to have. Of course, a man with the full age of this man's years had seen seasons turn many times before! Certainly many times more than he himself had. When the man's head turned in his direction and Charlie thought he might be seen, he raised one hand and waved to him. He smiled in pleasure as the man raised his left hand and waved back. It appeared that his gloves were still purple. After the man disappeared from sight as he moved deeper into the park on his walk, Charlie stood and ran up the hill for his brief afternoon visit outside the factory. He never saw the eyes that peeked back to watch him inquisitively as he made his way.

**- W - C - F - **

As each day followed the next as days are wont to do, Charlie's sightings of the odd man multiplied rapidly, his notes and lists growing slowly but surely, occasionally leapfrogging a page or two at a time. The boy tried to be as objective as he could and in that pursuit actually ended up with two lists, one was labeled facts and the other guesses.

Unbeknownst to him, his gentleman's own silent observations of Charlie and the chocolate factory were doubling. For the man had accidentally discovered the boy's morning visits to that complex and had taken to watching them from a very strategic location. In fact, watching for the boy was becoming such a strong habit, he felt his day was not running on its proper course until he had seen Charlie outside the factory gates in the morning. It was only then that he could focus his full attention to his own business as he should until he had to take a break for his walk (and anticipate his second daily encounter with the young boy). The man found he decidedly missed him on the weekends when the boy did not appear and now dreaded the upcoming school holidays, knowing the boy's absence would throw him terribly off balance. As if he hadn't had enough problems this past year! At one of the worst possible times too, for there was far too much work to be done now, but at least the first of the holidays was still a month away. That gave him some breathing room to prepare for the decidedly horrible jolt.

In any case, Charlie Bucket by now looked forward to his afternoon sightings of his gentleman (and discovering the color of his coat and the trim of his top hat for he seemed to possess a veritable rainbow in his wardrobe) almost as much as his twice daily visits to the Wonka Chocolate Factory. He made sure that he waved every time and always it was returned by the gentleman.


	4. Chapter 3 First Weekend Sighting

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

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**Chapter Three – First Weekend Sighting**

The first Saturday after Halloween dawned dank and dreary. The misty day stayed miserable, but Charlie ignored that as if he was a man (or a boy) with a mission. He'd asked his parents last night for permission to visit his grandparents' grave site. After much discussion of what chores and tasks had to be done, they agreed, telling their son to be very careful as they simply could not find the time to accompany him as much as they wanted to do so. The walk to the cemetery was longer than the one Charlie normally made to school and (unhappily) did not pass anywhere near the chocolate factory or the park. He blew on his cold fingers and a thought occurred to him for the first time. Did the gentleman he watched after school walk there on the weekends as well? He wondered if he could steal a little more time from the day to find out that afternoon. The timing should be easily done as Charlie had always arrived at almost the same time, roughly ten minutes after the bell letting his school out. He speculated how long the gentleman had been walking there. He knew he had never seen him before that first day of fall and the man was certainly noticeable enough to be remembered if he had. Was he a new arrival, having recently moved to one of the town homes or apartments near the park?

Charlie listened as the gravel on the narrow road through the cemetery crunched under his sneakers. He knew that he was going to tell his grandparents all about the gentleman. He brushed a tear away, wishing they could comment, ask questions and answer his like they would have if they were still alive. However, unless spirits really did walk the earth in the dark hours of Halloween night and unless his grandparents' ghosts had lingered longer, they could not. Truthfully, he didn't want them to be restlessly wandering around. He wanted to think of them happily enjoying the afterlife with each other (but without cabbage), no longer old and tied to a bed. He glanced curiously at where two workmen were tidying a new grave, obviously in preparation for a service, in the richest part of the graveyard. _What would it be like to dig graves for a living?_ A morbid thought for one still young and yet he felt a touch of genuine interest. Somebody had to dig the graves and make the markers and the mausoleums and the coffins and all the other things that regularly accompanied a funeral. They were, at least, all honorable jobs. _What would it be like to have your living so closely tied to death?_ Would it make a person moody and melancholy or would they be manically cheerful to balance the gloom of death? Was death always sad?

Shaking his thoughts away, he reached the tiny little plot where his grandparents were buried. As they had lived in their shared bed, so too were they laid to rest, with each pair side by side and opposite the others. Charlie sat in a tidy bundle in the middle with his knees pulled up under his chin, ignoring the wet grass. "Hello Grandpa Joe, hello Grandma Josephine. Hello Grandpa George, hello Grandma Georgina." He greeted them exactly the same way that he always had. "I've met someone new," he said. "Well, met isn't the right word. It's more that I've seen someone new. A man, I find him very interesting and," here Charlie paused and thought hard for a moment, "colorful." At this point, his grandparents would nod and make interested sounds. Grandma Georgina would state something odd like "I love daisies". Grandpa Joe would excitedly say "Tell us about him, Charlie."

So Charlie did. He told them about when he first ran into the man thereby escaping the bullies. At which point Grandpa George would say something rude about bullies, but he didn't know what. His parents always covered his ears so he couldn't hear. He talked about his different colored coats and how soft the plum red one was. (Charlie thought that was his favorite one. Perhaps it was because it was what the gentleman had been wearing when he first saw him.) As he talked he looked toward where the new grave was and fell silent. His mouth dropped. "That," Charlie whispered, "is him."

There he stood, straight and rigid, Charlie's gentleman. But there was nothing colorful about him now. His suit and top hat were blacker than night. His gloves and cane were also black. Only his shirt was white. His clothes, in spite of the dripping sky, looked stiff and starched and crisp and terribly scratchy and uncomfortable, not like his usual attire at all. The two gravediggers and another man in a dark suit were standing to one side. A minister stood at the head of the grave. A casket of the most polished, gleaming, shiny dark wood sat waiting to be lowered, a spray of white and green, resting on it. The only other person was someone dressed in a business suit who managed to look totally unlike a mourner. In fact, he looked very much like a lawyer.

As Charlie watched, the dull drone of the minister's voice reached his ears. When it stopped, the gentleman continued to stand silently, still as a stone monument decorating one of the neighboring graves. He saw the second man become restless and shift uneasily as he waited. When that impatient person reached (rudely he thought) for his gentleman's elbow, Charlie felt his own heart leap into his throat as the man jumped as if shocked by a huge surge of electricity. He stepped away from the other man, shaking his head. Turning, the gentleman walked away. Tip, tip, tip went the cane, dulled by the damp ground. No longer calming, it had a peculiarly nervous, upset and (could it be?) fearful quality.

The silent observer to this nearly noiseless drama was bewildered when the gentleman turned from the large, elegantly black car that was parked nearby. A man in a chauffer's uniform had climbed out of the driver's side and opened the back door when the gentleman had moved away from the others, obviously waiting for him to get in. Everyone seemed flabbergasted as he started to stride away. The man who looked like a lawyer scurried after him, only to stop abruptly when that thin black cane lashed up, its end aimed at him, somehow gaining the impression of a sword's point. Its owner shook his head once, decisively, and then stalked up the street, his back rigidly erect.

The boy felt strange as he continued to watch. The minister left for a nearby church. The man who looked like a lawyer climbed into the front passenger seat of the elegant black car and the chauffer drove off. The other man spoke with the two workers for a few moments, and had then driven away in the hearse. The men began to fill in the grave.

"Doesn't he have any family or friends?" Charlie whispered in distress to his deceased grandparents and didn't guess that his heart was starting to think of this peculiar person as a friend. (This was because Charlie Bucket had never had a real, truly true friend outside of the members of his family.)

Charlie's parents were not surprised that he was downcast and quiet upon his return from the cemetery. They did not press their son for they knew (or thought they did) it was the sobering effect of visiting his grandparents' graves. They would have felt the same and respected his silence. The boy retreated as soon as he could to his bed, his thoughts disturbed by his observations at the graveyard. He would scribble something down to add to his lists, ruthlessly erase it, unsatisfied with his writing and troubled by what he had seen that day. Finally, he fell asleep, the pencil slipping from his fingers, into dreams bleak and heartrending.


	5. Chapter 4 Where is He?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

(AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Also thank you for your patience. It may be a bit before the next update as I do need to think about a Halloween fic in my usual fanish realms. My sincerest apologies if this does cause even more of a delay, but I will try to keep any interruptions to a minimum.)

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**Chapter Four – Where Is He?**

Monday afternoon could not come too soon for Charlie Bucket. His parents noticed his distraction all Sunday. On Monday, his teachers constantly had to call his attention back to his lessons. (It was a wonder he didn't get a detention.) It wasn't like Charlie at all and the adults wondered at the cause. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket thought it was because Charlie was missing his grandparents. His teachers didn't know what to think. Some of them even thought he was a new boy as they didn't remember him. (Obviously **they** weren't very good at their jobs.) Some of the teachers tried talking to him, but he just apologized. They all hoped that whatever was distracting Charlie would clear up soon. They were used to him being a good, quiet, well-mannered boy, definitely **not **one of their troublemakers.

As soon as the last bell of the day rang, Charlie fled the school. He rocketed past all the other students and ran headlong for the park. Once there, he stood panting heavily and searched around for his gentleman. As the minutes ticked by, he became more worried. _Where is he? _Charlie thought nervously. He lingered and lingered, hoping the man was just late or he was just early, but still he didn't come. Finally, knowing he **had **to go home, he left. For the first time ever, he did not turn toward the chocolate factory; his dragging feet took him straight home. He knew he had spent too much time in the park and wondered what excuse he could give his parents. His heart ached. _Where is he? I hope he's all right!_

- W- C - F -

What Charlie didn't know was his gentleman had spent all day in bed with all the windows covered and the lights off. This was not because he was brooding nor was it because of inconsolable sorrow. It was because he had awakened Sunday with the most terrible and horrendous headache of all headaches. Past experience had taught the man and his employees (who were also dearly loved friends) that the only way to handle the pain was for him to lay very still and quiet in the dark with his eyes closed. If he was fortunate it would all be gone in a day or two or three. If he wasn't the residual effects would linger for a week or more.

Because they loved him with all their hearts, his workers considered it their duty to watch over the gentleman and tend to any need that might arise. Since too many of them would make much too much noise, only four were there at any given moment in time. Those four felt honored, but also sad because they hated to see their beloved employer in pain. They would sit quietly, occasionally changing the cool cloth laid over his eyes, softly stroking his hair or his hands and giving him little sips of a soothing drink. (They knew he would be unable to keep anything more down until the headache started to fade.)

Imagine how surprised the four on duty Monday morning were when their employer sat up a little bit and removed the cool compress from his eyes. A single glance at his face, by the teeny tiny nightlight that was the sole source of light, said that the headache was still fiercely present so they wondered why he was sitting up. He gestured to the closest one and his hands made strange, fluent motions. The worker crossed his arms on his chest, his curled hands touching his shoulders and bowed, then scurried off to do as he was requested.

Now what the man had requested was for someone to check on Charlie Bucket, meaning to watch and see that the boy came to the factory gates that morning as he always did. However, that is not what the employee did. Perhaps it was because of the headache and the man had made a mistake in his gestures. But whatever the reason, the employee thought he was suppose to find out where the boy came from and what he did that day. And so it was, Charlie acquired an unseen shadow that followed him to school and all the way home.

**- W – C – F –**

When Charlie reached home, his mother immediately came over and began to scrutinize him from head to toe. "You're late," Mrs. Bucket said as she anxiously scanned for signs of any injuries, all the while hoping that her son's tardiness was not caused by any bullies or accidents.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Charlie said softly. "I stayed at the park too long."

"Why?" Mrs. Bucket asked in a reasonable and curious tone as she turned back to her housework. She was grateful that he was physically fine, but it just wasn't like Charlie to loiter or shirk. She waited anxiously for him to respond.

Now Charlie had thought long and hard about his excuse on the way home. Lying was not in his nature, but he didn't want to get in trouble either. (Who would?) Still, he had been waiting for a stranger (as his parents would see it) and he was not supposed to talk to strangers at all (as his parents reminded him frequently). He didn't know why he would get in trouble as he hadn't really spoken with his gentleman, except for the first time, and that was to apologize (which his parents and grandparents had also taught him to do) as was only polite. Charlie Bucket didn't want to admit even to himself that he had intended to speak with him this afternoon (For his heart, still aching with the loss of his grandparents, readily empathized with the man's own loss whoever that might be.) and was now dreadfully worried by the gentleman's nonappearance. "I was waiting for someone," Charlie admitted truthfully.

His mother's curiosity came to attention at these words. "Were you waiting for a friend then?"

"Yes," the boy said automatically, then shook his head, "well, no, not really."

"Charlie," Mrs. Bucket said kindly, "which is it, dear?" She wondered if her son had acquired a 'girl friend'. That might account for the confusion.

"It's just somebody I bumped into at the park."

"From your school?"

"No."

Charlie's mother turned to look at her son, wondering what it would take to get him to talk properly about this maybe friend. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to sit at the table with him. "Charlie?"

Charlie Bucket rubbed a spot on the table and sighed silently. He knew now he had no choice but to let his parents know about his gentleman. (For to tell one was to tell both.) He didn't think he had done anything wrong, but you never knew with adults. He sighed silently and looked up at his patiently waiting mother. He would tell her the basics, not as much as he told his grandparents, but enough that it was the whole truth. He didn't have to get into the details like how he dressed and the different colors or the cane or anything else. Not unless they asked.

"It was the first day of autumn," Charlie started, "and I was running through the park, some bullies from school were chasing me."

Mrs. Bucket frowned in thought. It had been longer than that since her son's last encounter with bullies. Hadn't it? She and Mr. Bucket had both hoped that the bullying had ended. They just discussed that the other night, about how Charlie hadn't been hounded since the start of the school year. The worst bullying had happened once or twice a week, but that had been years ago when he had first started third grade. That had gradually changed to every month or so, with Charlie being beaten up by bigger, older boys from the school. They'd frequently discussed taking it up with the principal or Charlie's teachers, but their son had always somehow managed to talk them out of it. "They'll just do it more often," Charlie had said seriously. "They don't like tattlers. I've seen what they do to them."

"I wasn't watching where I was going and ran into a man," her son continued, "a gentleman. I almost fell, but he steadied me and when I looked for them, the bullies were running away. I looked up and he was frowning after them. They didn't want to mess with him." _Which only makes sense, _Charlie thought to himself, _since bullies are scared of adults. _"I apologized for running into him. He tipped his hat and bowed to me. I apologized and bowed back, then left."

Mrs. Bucket felt torn, part of her was grateful to this man for protecting Charlie from his tormenters, the other part was worried because he was a stranger and you heard so many stories about what strangers did to children, bad things - very, very bad things. And why hadn't Charlie mentioned this before now? She hugged herself as a shiver ran up her spine.

"The next day, I saw him again and waved. He waved back. It's been like that ever since." The boy shrugged and explained more clearly. "I see him walking in the park after school and wave to him and he waves back."

"That's it?" Mrs. Bucket questioned, her fears eased somewhat. _But why was Charlie late today?_

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie answered.

"Then why were you late?"

"Oh," Charlie looked down and sighed. "Saturday, at the cemetery, I saw him again. He was attending a service. It was just him and the people who work there and at the funeral home, the minister and one other man. I wondered if he didn't have anybody else," he looked up into his mother's eyes, his face anxious and worried, "if he didn't have any family or friends. I was anxious to see him today, to see that he was all right. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for his loss."

Charlie's mother was pleased that her son should have such a good, kind, loving heart, but she didn't like him talking to strangers and was still worried. He had yet to explain why he was late and if he didn't she thought she might scream.

Her son sighed unhappily. "He didn't come. I waited and waited, but he never came."

Mrs. Bucket looked into Charlie's stormy gray eyes full of concern for his 'friend' and the touch of blue that was the hope that somehow his mother could make this better too. "Perhaps he had business that took him away or an appointment." She watched her son consider this and he slowly nodded.

"I hadn't thought about that." Charlie brightened. "So I should see him tomorrow."

"Perhaps," his mother cautioned, "but he might be gone for longer, maybe even a week or two if he has taken a leave."

"A leave?"

Charlie's mother hesitated for a second, but decided to explain as Charlie had already learned something about this earlier that year. "If the deceased was close family, he might have taken a leave of absence to… handle their affairs."

"Oh." Like when his grandparents had died. After all the tears and visitors and funerals, they had gone through the grandparents' things together, sorting everything out. Some his parents had kept. He had been allowed to pick a few items to help him remember them. Most of the rest had been given or sold or thrown away. And the bed, their bed had been taken apart by his father and stored.

"Charlie, it might be best if you don't," his mother sighed and looked off out the window, then met her son's eyes, "offer your condolences."

_Don't talk to strangers._ The oft repeated warning came back to Charlie. His parents said it. His teachers said it. The police officer who had visited their class had said it. _But he isn't a stranger_, his heart whispered. His gaze dropped to the table.

"Promise me."

"I promise," Charlie said very softly, his voice so low she almost didn't hear him. Mrs. Bucket smiled sadly. What did it say about the world when parents had to make their children distrust other people? She didn't have the heart to tell her son to stop waving at the man. _What harm could that do? As long as they don't speak again, Charlie will be fine._

**- W – C – F –**

The person who had followed the boy so faithfully that day frowned deeply as he scampered back to report his findings to his employer. The boy and his family's circumstances were unfortunate and meager. He suddenly smiled. He had a feeling that things were about to change around the Bucket's house.


	6. Chapter 5 Morning Surprises

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

(AN: I return having finished my Halloween story only just in time for the day. Whew! wipes brow If you should happen to be curious, it is actually crossed with CatCF, ever so slightly AUish due to the dates that I utilized for it. You can find it on my website. The author's name is Peggy – that's me by the way, the title is "Ghouls and the Ghouls Who Follow Them" and don't ask me why I chose that title. Maybe one day I will write the flip side and give a more CatCF/Charlie's point of view. And now continuing with our story…)

**Chapter Five – Morning Surprises**

Days started early at the Bucket household for Charlie's parents. His father rose while it was still very dark to go to work and his mother was awake as well to fix him whatever was available for breakfast. They had stayed up late last night discussing the 'friend' Charlie had told his mother about. Mr. Bucket had finally decided that Mrs. Bucket was right (As she frequently was.) and he didn't have the heart to forbid Charlie's exchanging waves with the stranger. He kissed his wife warmly and opened the door to leave for the toothpaste factory, only to stumble over a basket that lay just outside. It was a rather **large **basket. Curious as to what it could contain, he brought it back inside. (As Mrs. Bucket frequently pointed out, he was always early, so he had a bit of time to satisfy his curiosity.)

"What is that, dear?"

"I don't know," Mr. Bucket answered his wife truthfully. She turned from where she was working to come see what he had. The first thing they found was that the cloth that covered the basket was actually a blanket, a large, woolen blanket, very warm and soft and pink. Never had they touched such soft wool. As Mrs. Bucket rubbed her cheek against it, she discovered that it was not the least bit scratchy as wool frequently was. Beneath it was yet another blanket, just as big and fluffy and soft. It too was pink. There was a loaf of fresh bread, miraculously still warm, wrapped in a red and white checked cloth. Beneath that were several bags. The bags, they swiftly discovered, were full of vegetables and fruits – green beans and potatoes, tomatoes and onions, broccoli and lettuce, corn and carrots, oranges and lemons, apples and grapes, peaches and cherries, strawberries and raspberries and berries they had never seen before. There was not a single cabbage to be found in that basket. Under the bags was another bag full of small candies – chocolates and mints and toffees and taffy and caramels and sours and hard candy. There were jars of strawberry preserves and grape jam and apple jelly and peanut butter. There was a bag of nuts still in their shells - walnuts and pecans and peanuts and cashews and macadamia nuts. They found a tin of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, also still warm. Next out was a small cloth sack full of flour, followed by a bag of granulated sugar, then a bag of powdered sugar. There was a tin of hot chocolate mix and another of peppermint tea and a long, thin one of spaghetti pasta. There was even a small bag of fresh ground coffee. No where did they find a sign of where the basket had come from, not a note or a single manufacturer's mark. It was mystifying to say the least.

"Where does one get fresh fruits and vegetables this time of the year?" Mrs. Bucket wondered.

"Most people get them at the grocer's, dear," Mr. Bucket answered, bemused by the sudden largesse.

"Mr. Bucket," his wife responded, "these are far too fresh to have come from any grocer's at this time of year." She knew that, it was as if they were just fresh picked from a garden. If she looked closely she felt she might still find dew on them, dew, not frost, as would be normal for the season.

"A greenhouse?" her husband offered.

"Do you know anyone around here with a greenhouse? A greenhouse that is large enough for all this?" She spread her arms wide to take in the bounty that covered their battered table.

"No," he responded, "I'm not even sure how they managed to pack all of it in that basket." He was right. The basket while quite large did not look large enough to hold everything that now lay out on the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged looks full of bewilderment and wonder and curiosity. Now, the Buckets while poor were also proud. Part of that pride didn't want to need help from anyone else. They liked to make their own way and take care of themselves. However, they were also sensible people and there was nothing here that they couldn't use. Still, being proud, they wanted to thank whoever had given them such bounty. And there was nothing, not a clue, as to who they should be thanking!

Mr. Bucket shook his head, somewhat ruefully. "Well, must be off or I will be late for work!" With that, he went out the door again, only to return a second later. "It looks like I missed something." Indeed he had, for in one hand was a small basket covered with another red and white checked cloth which proved to be full of eggs and fresh butter and cheese. In the other hand was a small metal basket full of eight milk bottles, all quarts, half of them were regular milk and the other half chocolate milk. Nestled in the very middle was a tiny jug of fresh cream. They exchanged baffled looks and both shrugged.

"At least Charlie will have a good breakfast this morning," Mr. Bucket offered, then kissed his wife and left (again). This time, he didn't come back somewhat to Mrs. Bucket's relief. She really couldn't think of what else they might possibly need as she started to put away most of the food or where they could keep it if there had been more.

**-W – C – F –**

Charlie awoke to an assortment of most delectable scents. Surprised and curious, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes to peer over his bed and down to the kitchen. His mother was bustling around making toast and scrambling… eggs? Where did eggs come from? He didn't remember eggs. In fact, they very rarely had bread, they usually had cabbage and that was because for some reason cabbage grew like crazy in his mother's garden. However hard she tried, she couldn't seem to get tomatoes or potatoes or corn or anything else to grow as well as the cabbage. Yet there was the toast and eggs. Where had they come from?

It wasn't his parents' fault that all they usually had was cabbage. It was because his father's job didn't pay much. Before his mother had to take care of his grandparents during the day and so that was her job. Now, she took in laundry to help pay for things because she could stay home and do that. The expense of paying for enough for seven people had given way to paying for the expenses of four funerals. It was a good thing his mother could do the laundry, otherwise his grandparents would have pauper graves and that was something that none of them could have born. Charlie knew all these things even though his parents (and previously his grandparents as well) had tried to hide them. Little eyes and ears see and hear far more than adults could ever guess. (Which was why Charlie was so astonished that they had something besides cabbage in the house. He should have **known**!)

The boy quickly scrambled into his clothes for the day and skidded down the ladder. "Good morning, Mum!"

"Good morning, Charlie! Wash your hands and face," she ordered as she swiftly readied a plate of real food for her growing son. How many mornings had passed where she had wished she could do just this very thing?

"Where did this come from?" Charlie asked his mother, eyes blue and green with curiosity and joy, for how could he feel anything but joy as the food filled his senses. He ate with slow care, savoring every delightful bite. He took a sip from his glass of milk, a frisson of pleasure running through him as he realized it was that perfect temperature where it wasn't too warm or too cold, just this side of crystallizing ice.

"It was on the porch when your father left for work this morning," she answered quite truthfully.

"Did one of the churches give it to us?" He knew that they usually delivered baskets of food to poorer homes around Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course, it was early for that, but still, it would make sense.

"We don't know," she answered as she sat across the table from him, "there wasn't a note."

Curiouser and curiouser, there was usually a note. People who donated to other people normally wanted them to know about their generosity. In fact, they usually wanted the whole world to know how generous and kind they were. He looked at his mother, his puzzlement obvious.

Mrs. Bucket nodded. "No note and nothing to say where it came from or anything else. There was a distinct lack of writing on everything." She reached over to the couch and showed her son one of the blankets. "Put this on your bed before you leave for school, Charlie."

"You need…" Charlie started.

"There were two blankets," she informed him kindly, "the other one is already on our bed." His mother ran her hand gently over the soft fabric. "They're probably the finest weave I've ever seen," she said, more to herself than to Charlie, "and not a sign of a tag or care instructions."

"It's pink," her son stated rather obviously.

"And very warm," she smiled. "I think its wool, but I've never felt anything like it. It's not mohair or cashmere." Those were two of the softest wools she knew and though she had never had anything made with them, she did know what they looked and felt like. This was decidedly not them.

Finishing his breakfast, surprised that the milk had not warmed up at least some (Perhaps it was because their house was cold?), and feeling pleasantly full for the first time in such a very long time, Charlie obediently took the pink blanket up to his bed. He stroked the soft fabric and sniffed it curiously. It smelled faintly like chocolate. His eyes rounded with surprise. In fact, it smelled exactly like Wonka's Chocolate Factory! He could have spent the entire day just standing there, taking in that marvelous aroma. Distantly, he heard a tower clock striking the hour and knew he had to hurry to get to school. As he tore down the ladder, the old leather satchel that served as his book bag over one shoulder, he got another surprise. His mother handed him a brown sack. He looked at the sack then up to his mother, his eyes full of questions.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple **and** a chocolate chip cookie," Mrs. Bucket informed her son cheerfully.

"Thank you, Mum!" Charlie kissed the cheek his mother bent over to offer him and tore out the door and up the road. He ran to reach the factory, wondering if he had imagined things or if the blanket did hold that magical place's scent within its folds. As he reached the gates, he almost slipped and fell, but a quick hand caught hold of a bar and steadied him. He fought to slow his breathing so he could inhale properly and then he grinned. The scent was exactly, absolutely and positively the same as that on his new blanket.

From a window, high above, a figure in a heavily embroidered robe with a rich purple blanket spread across his lap leaned forward to touch a purple gloved hand to the glass. Even though pain tugged at his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as he watched the boy at the gates. Charlie's gentleman stood, folded the blanket up and laid it on his seat. He had so much work to do. Several workers gathered round him as he picked up his cane. They had so much work to do. The man signed some instructions and then hurried into his bedroom to get dressed. He didn't have time to be sick; the week was going to be even busier than normal.


	7. Chapter 6 Waiting and a New Mystery

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

(AN: Thank you for all of your too kind words of review. I hope that I can continue to write up to your expectations. Some of you have quite literally made me blush. Oh! )

**Chapter Six – Waiting and a New Mystery**

Charlie bounced out of school with a happy step. He wasn't hungry at all and felt better than he had since before his grandparents had died. He strode quickly toward the park, almost certainly positive his gentleman would make an appearance today. It had been a good and glorious day and it demanded just that circumstance to make it that rarest of rare days – perfect. The nip in the air that bit at his nose and chilled his fingers did nothing to steal the warm glow of happiness from Charlie Bucket. He had even gotten a 100 on the pop quiz in math!

Sadly, the perfect day failed to materialize along with Charlie's gentleman. Mindful of his mother's words the previous day, the boy shook off any worry he felt and thought "_maybe tomorrow_" with mentally crossed fingers. In actuality, days passed without a trace of his gentleman's hat or velvet coat or of the man himself. No tap, tap, tap of a cane, no figure walking with a slight limp and perfect posture. Nothing and it left Charlie feeling oddly and decidedly empty, even as his stomach was feeling pleasantly and truly full for the first time in his memory.

While the Buckets were enjoying their mysterious benefactor's gifts, Charlie's gentleman was hard at work. In truth, he was juggling three jobs, or tasks if you prefer, but they all **felt** like work to the man, some were just more pleasantly rewarding or more satisfying than others. He spent the first part of his day (the morning and the start of the afternoon) running around trying to accomplish his normal job in far fewer hours than he normally did. This was a job that he usually found extremely satisfying and delightful to do and while he was doing only the portions that were absolutely necessary at the moment, his job – his career if you will – was stealing quite a bit of time that needed to be devoted elsewhere currently. The next portion of his day (the rest of his afternoon and the first of the evening) was being spent resolving the affairs of his newly deceased family member. This was something that the gentleman really and decidedly did **not** want to do, but he had no choice but to take up and complete his duty. In fact, as nearly as he could tell and for no reason he could actually find, the sooner he completed it, the better as far as everyone else was concerned. He didn't understand that at all. It wasn't like someone was clamoring to move into the old place, now was it? The remainder of his evening and quite a bit of his night was being devoted to his newest project. While it was totally different from his normal projects, he considered it a most important venture and it would be wholly satisfying if he could manage to pull it off successfully. The only problem was that the gentleman eventually ran out of energy and fell asleep in the oddest and most uncomfortable corners and places.

His workers had always been disconcerted on the occasions he did this and they were even more so now that it was a regular occurrence. They tried their best to remove some of the burdens from their employer's shoulders, but there was little more that they could actually do. Much of his regular job was taken up by tasks they couldn't perform. Some of it was actually dangerous for them to try and complete. The man would not allow them to help with his family affairs, saying that was not the job he was paying them to do and that he would just have to handle it all himself. He willingly and gladly accepted their assistance with his newest venture because it was truthfully as much their project as his. In the end, the best that they could do was to try to make sure he ate regularly and was comfortable wherever he ended up sleeping.

**-W – C – F –**

By Friday, Charlie had resigned himself to not seeing his gentleman. Part of him wondered if he would ever see him again, if he had in fact vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared. So, he didn't pause at the park, but hurried up the hill to the chocolate factory, thinking he might manage a glimpse of the Wonka trucks picking up their load of candy, if his latest calculations were accurate. Catching sight of the Wonka trucks inside the factory complex was a treat that was rarely seen as it required perfect timing and quite a bit of good luck. Wonka's, as far as Charlie could tell, maintained the oddest and most irregular of schedules. He wasn't sure why that was or how business could successfully be transacted that way, but there it was and so it was a very extraordinary experience to actually catch. It might even offset some of the ache of missing his gentleman... maybe.

Good fortune followed Charlie that day for he found the trucks all neatly settled in front of each loading bay. He could see cartons of candy sliding along the conveyor belts into the backs of the nearest trucks. Fascinated by the novel sight, the boy stared, trying to ingrain the memory into his mind. About ten minutes later, something decidedly odd happened. Charlie heard the sound of a truck door opening and then slamming close. His brow furrowed in puzzlement as it was followed by the opening and closing of another truck door. What could be happening? Surely the drivers weren't **leaving** the trucks! He craned his neck trying to see the more distant trucks, bewildered by the thought. No one went into the factory and no one came out. What were they doing? Try as he might, Charlie could see nothing of this mysterious occurrence and as time passed with no more sounds other than the trucks' engines, he scratched his head.

Finally, **THE **moment came and the gates creaked open. Charlie made sure he was well to one side, not wanting to be accidentally run over by a Wonka truck. He held his breath as the trucks pulled out, each one following closely behind the other, and passed through the gates, going down the streets until the procession broke apart as a truck turned to a different direction at various crossroads. It was a splendid sight to the boy and brought a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the chill day as he thought of all the boys and girls of the world who would receive the delightful treasures tucked inside the boxes. In his imagination, he could see their smiles and grins and awed looks as they tasted the magic that was a Wonka candy bar, perhaps some for The Very First Time.

Truly that had been a wonderful sight that almost made up for his gentleman's continued absence. Charlie turned for one last look of the factory as the gates closed and froze with his mouth hanging open. There, at the most distant corner loading bay, was a truck. A single Wonka delivery truck sat, innocently doing nothing in particular. It wasn't running and it most certainly wasn't supposed to be there. Never in Charlie's memory could he recall a single instance of a truck, even a Wonka truck, being left behind in the factory complex. Was it broken? Did that explain why the driver had left it? But if it was broken, shouldn't the driver remain until whoever repaired Wonka trucks came to fix or collect it to take to their service station for repairs? Did Wonka trucks actually breakdown? Or was there another reason for it to remain where it was? The boy walked home turning the mystery over and over in his head, wondering and thinking about that truck. (At least it distracted him from fretting about his gentleman!)

**-W – C – F –**

Charlie would have been very justified in worrying over his gentleman at the moment. He would, in fact, be extremely dismayed if he had seen him. The poor man looked tired and worn out as he sat on the floor in the middle of an old fashioned room with a cold, unlit fireplace, surrounded by full boxes. Charlie would have been interested to note (if he could tear his eyes from his exhausted gentleman) that almost every single box was branded with the familiar Wonka logo. A very few were marked instead, oddly and appropriately enough given the company they were keeping, with Cacao/Cocoa and actually smelled of chocolate. His hat and cane were sitting discarded on a nearby table. The man rubbed tired eyes with a purple gloved hand and then pushed his bedraggled hair away from his face. He looked nothing like his normally dapper self as dust clung to his sage green velvet frock coat and black pants.

The gentleman politely covered his mouth with one hand as he opened it in a jaw popping yawn. He looked around as he tried to think of what else needed to be done. Most of what he wanted to keep for whatever obscure reason his mind had created was finally packed away for moving. He stood with a huge stretch and limped hesitantly to a wall covered with Wonka Candy memorabilia. He frowned deeply, his brow furrowed with total incomprehension, as he absently read a newspaper article on the opening of the great factory. He had absolutely no clue why they were there and he had no time at the moment to figure it out. So, without further thought, he absently picked up an empty box and began to fill it with the various items. He would worry about it later - much, much later.

**-W – C – F –**

When the gentleman literally staggered as he walked into the workroom dedicated to their latest project, every worker present narrowed his or her eyes. Enough was enough and they weren't taking any more of it! They marched over to the slender man and two gave a slight shove. It was more than enough to make the man fall backwards on to the waiting hands of his employees. His hat tumbled off and he dropped his cane. That he went over so easily said he was clearly too tired to continue at this pace. He looked surprised and betrayed as one, dressed neatly in a black suit and white shirt and dark tie, came over and signed to him. The employee managed to convey concern and firm resolve in his movement. "No more! You are exhausted. You will rest now and sleep yourself out. You will not lift a finger for work during the day tomorrow. If you do this, we **may** let you accompany us on our venture tomorrow night. Otherwise, we **will** lock you in your room and make sure you stay there." He crossed his arms and stared at their beloved employer with a very stubborn expression on his face.

The man pouted. He frowned. A finger went up, then down as he closed his hand into a fist with a squeak of his glove. He finally sighed, a very deep, put upon sigh. With lowered eyes and another pout, he meekly nodded agreement. A tiny surprised sound erupted from his throat as his employees, instead of putting him down, carried him out of the room. The worker who had acted as their spokesperson and another followed them, carrying his hat and cane.


	8. Chapter 7 Saturdays Are Quiet

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter Seven – Saturdays Are Quiet**

Saturday dawned as most such days dawned at the Bucket household. The difference was, naturally, breakfast was far better than usual. There was lots of good food to eat and even better company to share it with. Getting up together, the Buckets exchanged news and events from their week that had not been offered on previous days. Charlie told the story of watching the Wonka trucks leave the factory yesterday and the lone truck which had been left inside. Mr. Bucket and Mrs. Bucket looked at each other and shrugged.

"Perhaps it broke down," Mr. Bucket joked, "I'm sure even Mr. Wonka's machines break sometime."

"Or, perhaps, just perhaps, Mr. Wonka needs it for something else," Mrs. Bucket stated thoughtfully, "besides delivering candy, I mean."

"Like what?" Charlie, his blue and green eyes bright with curiosity, asked.

Mrs. Bucket made a slight face as she thought and buttered her toast. "I don't know. Maybe pick something up?"

"Or deliver something besides the usual?" Mr. Bucket offered, before finishing his cup of coffee. "Well, have a good day, Buckets; I'm off to rake leaves!" He smiled warmly at his family and collected the rake beside the door, setting out to earn more money to support his loved ones.

"If you don't mind, Mum, I'll see if I can shine some shoes," Charlie said to his mother, also wanting to help his parents with money. At his mother's nod of agreement, the boy collected his shoe shine kit and skipped out the door. He headed for Cherry Street, knowing it would be bustling with shoppers and workers and business people. Surely some of them would like their shoes polished. And they did too! Charlie polished several different people's shoes that morning and actually earned a grand total of six dollars and seventy-five cents, which did not include the dollar tip from a cheerful man who said he was retiring soon and would be able to visit more often with his grandchildren. This made Charlie remember his own grandparents, but he blinked furiously to prevent tears and found a happy grin for the stranger, even as he felt his own twinge of envy.

Deciding to take a break before going home for lunch, Charlie Bucket ran up the street to the chocolate factory at the top. (The factory was at the top of many streets since it was in the absolute center of the small city.) This led the boy to an entirely new view of the factory and he admired the fine lines of the stacks as they rose over the guardian wall and poured clouds of sweet scented smoke into the sky. He trailed his hand gently along the stone, walking to the front gates. _The factory is working harder than ever_, Charlie thought as he tried to sort and recognize the delectable scents in the air. He froze as he came to a narrow slit open in one window, high above his head. The boy could not see the window because of his position against the wall, but he certainly smelled something different than normal. That wasn't candy! In fact, it smelled like a bakery! He stood still; inhaling the air, appreciating the aroma of fresh baked bread and cookies and … Was that cake? "That smells wonderfully delicious, Mr. Wonka," Charlie said to the never seen or heard owner of the factory.

Due to an unusual acoustic quirk, Charlie's gentleman heard the boy's soft spoken words of appreciation. Pausing, he stopped his puttering, walked over to the slightly open window in his rooms and looked out. He knew he had heard the boy, but he didn't see him. He scratched his head as he continued to watch and was rewarded when the youngster reached the gates of the factory. This made the gentleman positively giddy with delight! He had never seen Charlie Bucket at the factory gates on a Saturday before. He felt a most unusual desire to run outside and meet the boy there. He hadn't actually seen him in what felt like so long (even though it was less than a week), just the glimpses as he visited the factory in the mornings. Only the fact that he was still in his pajamas stayed the man from fulfilling his wish. True to his employees' request, the gentleman had slept himself out and only gotten up quite recently. Not bothering to dress yet, he had only pulled on an apron and had been fooling around in his small, but most complete kitchen, relaxing as he mixed and stirred and cooked and baked whatever wandered into his head. Now, he stamped his foot in frustration. He was positive that by the time he was fully dressed, for he could not go out less than fully dressed, the boy would be long gone. So with a sigh, he leaned his forehead against the pane of cool glass, resting a gloved hand beside it, and watched as long as the boy stayed in sight.

The worker who had ordered him to bed the night before crept quietly inside, hoping their employer was still asleep. Finding the man at the windows, he walked over to join him.

"He was here," the gentleman signed.

"It's Saturday," the employee protested.

"I know, but he was here." The man turned around and went to remove some pans from his oven.

"You've been busy!" The accusation came with a stern frown.

"And you know it relaxes me!" The gentleman placed the pans down on the cooling racks gently, stifling his frustration. He really wanted to slam something around right now. "You know how I get about doing nothing."

A hand gently patted him in apology. "I know. You seem better."

"I slept as you requested. I am now thoroughly and completely rested." The man sat on one of the stools next to the breakfast bar. "Almost," he finished signing with a faint smile.

"Almost," the worker echoed the sign with an affectionate look.

"May I?" The gentleman hesitated. He didn't know what he would do if his employees didn't let him help.

"If you don't wear yourself out," was the immediate response. "And if you eat properly. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not really, but I've been nibbling." The man gestured around at the full counters and table.

"Yes, I expect you have," the employee knew that just little tastes of the things that went into and out of his oven could easily fill his slender boss. "Finish up and we'll see if we can find something to occupy you while letting you sit down."

"I will be there shortly," the gentleman gestured gratefully. He crossed his arms and bowed to his employee and friend who responded with the same movement.

**- W – C – F –**

The late night sky was clear and the stars shone brightly in spite of the lights of the city. There was a beehive of activity as Charlie's gentleman and his workers prepared to go outside. A purple gloved hand passed out tiny pieces of something wrapped in shiny red paper to all who were going with him. Each worker unwrapped and immediately ate it, knowing that without that tiny morsel they would be unable to withstand the cold, mild as it was, and would attract more than a little attention if they were spotted. For in truth, they were different enough to be noticed and they needed a much, much warmer climate than this late autumn provided, even on a mild day or night. The gentleman watched anxiously, making sure they were all reacting properly. He knew they were going for love of him as much as anything and he would be crushed if something went the least bit wrong.

The truck had already been adjusted for its shorter driver and Charlie's gentleman got in on the passenger side. He looked over at the driver and smiled nervously. It might have been simpler if the man drove, but in truth it had been a very long time since he had and he was entirely unsure if he remembered how. The worker who was driving them had been both curious enough and keen enough about it to not only learn the skill, but to keep in practice. "Onward," the man said softly in a seldom used voice.

The driver nodded and started the engine. He drove smoothly, with expert care out of the gates and down the hill. There was no one else out and about at this time of the night and the group hoped that it remained that way. Several nights watching had given them an idea of when the police patrol cars went through the streets and other late night activity might occur. If their plan went well, no one would see them or ever know they had been there. Fortunately, since it was a small city there wasn't that much night life, even on a Saturday night. It was now late enough (or early enough, depending on your point of view), that all the partiers were in bed, sound asleep, and the early birds were still trying to get that last bit of snoozing in before beginning the next day. And since that was Sunday, there were fewer early birds.

The truck stopped a few yards from the Bucket house. Charlie's gentleman was dressed most differently from what Charlie was used to see him, wearing worker's overalls, a baseball cap and round, dark, goggle style sunglasses. Now one would suppose wearing sunglasses at night was a very weird thing and make it totally impossible to see anything. On the contrary, the man could see most clearly for these were no ordinary sunglasses. They were of a design that he had created himself and worked most efficiently at the normal job of sunglasses which was to block ultraviolet light and the bright glare of the sun. They also, however, allowed the wearer to see quite clearly in the dark by whatever light there was around. All of them were wearing the sunglasses so they could work without additional light to alert anyone who might, by happenstance, pass by. He slipped out of the truck and over to the ramshackle house to peek into one of the windows. Seeing all was quiet, he sneaked, silent as a cat, all around the house, looking for any signs of awareness. Not finding anything, he gestured urgently for his workers to join him. They did so posthaste. A small ladder went up against the wall at the hole in the roof next to Charlie's bed. Up went one worker, quiet and quick.

Finding young Charlie asleep in his bed, the worker pulled out a straw. He pinched the ends off and held it up to his mouth to gently blow sleeping dust into the boy's face. Their employer had found several such straws in some of the discarded odds and ends in his workroom. He knew as soon as he saw them that they would finally prove useful since they caused a very deep and peaceful sleep to fall over whoever was dusted. This was the answer to the question of what to do about the Buckets being home. The worker waved to let the others know it was safe to come up and scampered over the boy, careful not to step on him, and to the edge of the ladder that led down into the house proper. Several workers swiftly joined him. A few hand gestures and the first worker was down the ladder and drifting toward the parents' bedroom. He eyed the door with distrust, not sure if he could open it silently. Another joined him and sprayed the hinges with yet another substance of their employer's invention. (He really was a clever and intelligent man, able to invent all sorts of useful items as well as not so practical things.) Assured it was safe, the first opened the door just a hair so he could peek inside. Satisfied, he entered and ran to the bed, pulling out another straw, his companion following him and doing the same. They gently blew dust into the couple's faces.

Safe for them to continue, they opened the front door for their employer and fellows to enter. Charlie's gentleman pulled a face as he gazed at the pitiful kitchen and living room. He didn't know how anyone could live in such circumstances. He forced himself to ignore his feelings and curiosity, so he immediately went to work, bringing in the first of several large items from the back of the truck. Workers were waiting to take each one carefully in hand as he brought them inside. The last one, he himself carried upstairs to Charlie's small bedroom in the attic space of the house. Leaning it against a wall, he shifted the cot the boy was sleeping in carefully so as to give them room to work. The man lingered a moment, a small smile of affection on his lips as his fingers ever so gently brushed the hair from Charlie's eyes. He nodded with satisfaction when he looked up to see his employees were almost finished turning the ragged hole into something much more even. He lifted the frame over to where they were and carefully moved it into position. The window, for that was what it was, fit perfectly in place. The man held it steady as the others worked to make it tight and fast to keep out the cold wind and other elements.

Finally satisfied, the workers hastened down the ladder as there was still much more work to do. Charlie's gentleman hesitated as he took in the picture on the wall that Charlie had drawn of the chocolate factory. He laughed softly and shook his head, before heading down to find out what else remained to be done. Seeing his employees had the rewiring well under way and knowing their clever hands would be able to do it much faster than he could, the man opened a bucket of whitewash. He poured a small bit into a tray and began to apply roller to wall. By the time they were done, the Buckets were not going to recognize their home.


	9. Chapter 8 The Best Prize Comes on Sunday

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter Eight – The Best Prize Comes on Sunday, a Sur-_prize_**

Charlie rolled over and pushed the blanket down slightly. He felt pleasantly warm. His eyes popped open is surprise. Warm? He found himself staring out at the factory on the hill through a window. Window! The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked again. The window remained. A large rectangular window filled the hole that had once given Charlie his view of the factory. It wasn't just any window either. Around the edges, beautifully created from bits of different colored glass, were pictures. There were trees and birds and flowers and all sorts of animals, both real and imagined. As Charlie stared at it, he blinked again and again, wondering how it could be there. Just to make sure, he pinched himself and then rubbed his arm. He was most definitely awake which meant, as impossible as it was, the window was real.

Charlie scrambled to his feet and was astounded not to feel cold. He quickly dressed and headed for the ladder, wanting to ask his parents about it. The boy froze in wide eyed astonishment as soon as he reached the bottom. The walls of the little room were no longer dirty and dingy. They were a bright white, but even more astounding were the flowers and birds that had whimsically been painted on them. There were daises and lilies and marigolds, peacocks and bluebirds and woodpeckers. There were lilacs and sunflowers and pansies, wrens and sparrows and robins. There were more flowers and birds than Charlie could ever name or remember, but the most beautiful were the roses and cardinals. They all appeared so real he felt as if he could hear the birds singing and chirping and could smell the sweet scent of the flowers.

Over the sounds and scents he imagined were real ones which finally called his attention to the fire burning and popping merrily in the fireplace. And on their little kitchen table was a most delightful sight – bowls of apples and oranges, chocolate frosted layer cake and apple pie, banana nut bread and cinnamon rolls, angel food cake and devil food cake. There were sugar cookies and shortbread cookies in fanciful shapes with frosting. There were chocolate chip cookies and chocolate chocolate chip cookies and brownies. All in all, it was a most amazing and magical sight for a child who only received one chocolate bar a year. Nowhere was there a single draft to be felt, all the windows were clean and tight and new as was their front door.

"Mum! Dad!" Charlie burst into his parents' tiny bedroom, only to find the magical transformation had not stopped in his bedroom and their common room, but was also here. Not a draft or a draught to be felt, everything was like new again. It was only then that he realized the floor no longer sagged under his feet. He bounced on to their bed. "How? How did you do it? Why didn't I wake up?" For surely, the noise of all the hammering and screwing and painting and fixing should have awoken him, even from the soundest of sleep!

"Charlie?" His mother sat up, sleepily blinking her eyes and pushed her hair from her face. "Do what, dearest?"

"Fix the house!" Charlie spread his arms wide, trying to encompass the whole change.

Mrs. Bucket blinked. She looked left. She looked right. She looked up and she looked down. She reached over, not daring to take her eyes off the room, and prodded her husband in the side. "Mr. Bucket." A soft grumble came from the lump beside her. She prodded again. "Darling, I think you better wake up."

Mr. Bucket turned over. "Yes, dear?" His hair stuck out every which way possible. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned.

"Look," Mrs. Bucket whispered and pointed at their room.

Mr. Bucket did look and he looked again, unable to believe his eyes. He blinked. His mouth opened as if he were going to say something, and then closed. He blinked and pinched himself. This made him jump and he rubbed his arm.

Charlie bounced on their bed again. "You should see the kitchen and living room!" He tugged on his mother's arm and she tugged on her husband's arm. Charlie pulled his parents into the common room. They stood there, blinking and blinking at the flowers and the birds and the fire and the food on their table. They looked at each other and blinked. They looked at the room and blinked. They didn't know what to do or say.

Hungry, Charlie ran over to the table and plucked a cinnamon roll from its plate. He took a little bite. "Yummmm," the little boy hummed in delight at the taste. He swallowed. "It's still warm!"

"Warm?" Charlie's mother murmured and shook herself. They didn't know who had been in their house and done these things. Was it safe for her son to eat this food? What if they had been robbed or murdered in their sleep! She started to say something, and then realized they were silly thoughts for it was too late to stop her son for he had already started eating. Besides, if whoever had done this had meant them any harm whatsoever, they would have already done it with no one the wiser.

Mrs. Bucket poured milk for Charlie and fixed coffee for Mr. Bucket and her. Getting their own cinnamon rolls, they relaxed and enjoyed the warmth of their rejuvenated home. Mrs. Bucket rested her chin in her hands and stared at the walls, delighting in the bright colors on the white background. She sighed in contentment and leaned against Mr. Bucket.

"Apple wood!"

"Dear?" Mrs. Bucket started a bit at Mr. Bucket's abrupt exclamation.

"The wood on the fire, its apple wood," he explained.

"It is a bit much, don't you think?" Mrs. Bucket started timidly. "Who did it?"

Mr. Bucket nodded. "Why did they do it?"

"Because they're nice and they care," Charlie stated with all the firm belief of childhood. He looked around the cozy room. "And they're magic!"

"Magic, Charlie?" Mr. Bucket gazed at his son, wondering.

"How else could they do all this," Charlie stated, stretching his arms as wide as he could, "without waking us up and in just one night!" He nodded at his parents. "You should see the window in my room!"

"In your room, Charlie?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

Charlie nodded and led them up the ladder. Reaching the little corner of attic that served as their son's room, they stared at the large window that now framed the chocolate factory on the hilltop.

"It's certainly a beautiful window," Mrs. Bucket said as she took in the glass pictures bordering it.

"Perhaps they're the ones who did it," Mr. Bucket teased as he pointed to the little people peeking from behind the odd plants at the top. "Maybe he asked them to do it," he indicated the man on the bridge. "Can't say much for that river though, it looks very dirty."

Charlie looked intently at the window. He realized the ones lining the top were really one picture. It was a bright colored field filled with unusually shaped and very colorful trees and bushes and flowers. Peeking out from behind the strange plants were almost identical little faces, grinning most mischievously. Through the magical glade, a brown river flowed from a waterfall. In the very middle, on a bridge covered in bright green grass, was a man clad in a top hat and plum red frock coat, leaning on a cane. His eyes opened wide in shock. It took everything that he had to keep it in and not to say it aloud for his parents to hear. It was his gentleman! It had to be him for no one else ever dressed like that. He curled up on his little bed and continued staring, not paying any attention as his parents withdrew to return to the living room below. He gazed at the dirty river and suddenly realized it was the exact same color as the world's best chocolate. His blue eyes drifted down to take in the enormous building at the top of the hill. "Mr. Wonka?" Charlie whispered breathlessly, totally stunned.


	10. Chapter 9 Speculation and Confrontation

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter Nine – Speculation and Confrontation**

Charlie Bucket surged uncertainly between being positive that his gentleman was indeed Mr. Willy Wonka and being positive that he could not possibly be Mr. Willy Wonka. Absolutely everyone knew that Willy Wonka had not set foot outside his factory (or his factory gates) since before Charlie was born. His parents had told him this; his grandparents had told him this. He had heard it from teachers and overheard it in the conversations of the curious and the dismissive. He had even heard some speculating that Willy Wonka himself was dead and some person or persons unknown were now running his factory. The strangest speculation was the factory was running itself and would continue to do so for as long as it received energy and ingredients.

Shaking his head, Charlie dug out his lists and wrote Willy Wonka on the Guess list. He then dug through his book bag for an almost clean piece of paper and wrote Reasons at the very top. He created two columns – Why and Why Not. Chewing thoughtfully on his pencil, he wrote down 'Never leaves the factory' under the Why Not column. What did he have for the Why column? Just why had his heart and mind leaped to the conclusion that his gentleman was the ever mysterious and elusive candy maker? Finally, he wrote 'Center of picture at top of my window' under that column and then wrote 'River in window looks like chocolate'. He folded his hands under his chin and wished desperately that Grandpa Joe could answer his questions. After all, his grandfather had worked for Willy Wonka; surely he would be able to describe the man!

Thinking about Grandpa Joe working for Mr. Wonka all those years ago, he wrote "too young?" under the Why Not column. He might not know the age of his gentleman, but he seemed too young to have owned and run a candy shop back then. Across from it, he wrote "magic" under the Why column. Whoever had gotten into the house and fixed it up certainly seemed magical. So Mr. Wonka ought to be able to appear or even be younger than he actually was. He underlined "magic". Remembering yesterday, he wrote "bakery scents from the factory" and "baked goods appearing in our house" referring to the scents from yesterday and the delicious spread that mysteriously appeared on the table today. Still, why would Mr. Wonka care about the Buckets? Did he remember Grandpa Joe? Surely it wasn't the fleeting moments exchanged between him and his gentleman? It seemed rather obvious that whoever had left the baskets of food and blankets earlier was also responsible for the newest improvements for the Bucket family. Charlie added "genius" under the Why column. Grandpa Joe had always called Mr. Wonka a genius and said he created the most amazing candies. That could certainly qualify him to be able to do or create something that looked like magic. According to Grandpa Joe, he had built an entire palace out of chocolate once. Did that mean he could fix a little broken house in one night? He added the thought to the Why column.

The boy peeked over the side and down into the living room to look at his parents. Did they know what Willy Wonka looked like? Had they ever met him? Or perhaps, Grandpa Joe had shared more stories with them. He desperately wanted to ask but part of him was afraid to do so. He did not want his parents to guess that their mysterious and magical benefactor was the great Willy Wonka. He certainly didn't want them to guess that his gentleman was him. He froze and wondered why he felt that way. And yet… And yet…

Willy Wonka had apparently kept himself well away from the world for many, many, many years. If he had for currently unknown reasons dared to start returning to it, Charlie certainly did not want to be the cause to drive him away again. He thought, for the very first time, that it might be very, very lonely inside the chocolate factory. Did Mr. Wonka live in the gigantic complex alone? Did he have any family or friends living with him? Who worked the machines? It couldn't be just Mr. Wonka all by himself! Could it? Or were the people who thought the machines were running themselves right? Was Mr. Wonka all alone? Charlie shivered with something far colder than cold at the thought. He could not bear to think of living alone without his family to share and laugh and love. Or, the sympathetic boy thought with a sort of dawning dread, had he accidentally witnessed the funeral of Mr. Wonka's last living companion? With these thoughts filling his mind, Charlie Bucket began to think how he could get permission to go to the park that very afternoon even as his mind went back to the thought his gentleman could not be him. Everyone knew Willy Wonka never left the factory.

**- W – C – F –**

Charlie Bucket idly drifted back and forth on the swing set at the park. A short time ago, he had persuaded his parents to let him go to play at the park. Playing they firmly believed was something their son did not get nearly enough doing so they had agreed. He looked around wondering what time it was. It should be close to the time school let out, but he had no bells to tell him when that was. He could not see any of the tower clocks from the park due to the trees. He strained his ears and heard a distant tolling. Three chimes so it should be three o'clock, unless the clock was wrong which was entirely possible. He knew there was a clock on Apple Lane that was still on daylight savings. There was another clock on Oak Street that was perpetually six minutes fast and one on Daisy Avenue that was thirteen minutes slow. Still he stopped his swinging and started to look around, wondering which way his gentleman would come if he came today. If he was indeed Mr. Wonka, he should come from the direction of the chocolate factory.

The boy's head instinctively turned toward the factory on the hill with that thought. He tried to quell the butterflies that were fluttering in his tummy as he felt more and more anxious about the upcoming meeting. Something, he was not sure what it was, told him that his gentleman would be out for a stroll today. As the minutes crept past, his heart seemed to pound louder and louder in his ears. What was he going to say? How would he respond if his gentleman said he was Wonka? What if he said he wasn't? What if he laughed at him? Anxiety rising, Charlie closed his eyes and licked his lips. He felt so absolutely nervous he thought he might say nothing at all.

A familiar tap, tap, tapping sound and the clicks of hard heels reached Charlie Bucket's ears. He opened his eyes with a gasp, not realizing he had been holding his breath until then. For a moment, his ears rang as he blinked his eyes and looked to see his gentleman splendidly dressed in a coat the color of burnished antique gold. It was a glorious coat for a fine Autumn Sunday. The boy licked his lips and tried clearing his throat. He stood up and took a step forward, hoping desperately that he was not going to make an idiot of himself. His heart thrummed in his chest like the frantic wings of a trapped sparrow as the man walked closer.

"Hello Mr. Wonka." Even to his own ears, Charlie's voice sounded small and timid.

The gentleman's reaction was totally unexpected as with a gasp he jumped backwards as if the small boy had leapt forward to attack him. His face, impossibly, seemed to loose even more color. His lips twisted down, only to straighten in a line, and then open as if to speak. Charlie heard a squeak and saw that the man was nervously twisting his purple gloved hand on the head of his cane. He raised a finger from his free hand as he cringed only to step back and back and back. With another gasp, he whirled around and walked rapidly away. The little boy watched the man flee him with a stunned feeling. He would never forget the look on his gentleman's face for he had never before seen such an expression of stark panic and fear.


	11. Chapter 10 Dissonance and Decisions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter Ten – Dissonance and Decisions**

Charlie's gentleman fled all the way back to the safety of his home. Standing in the long entry hall on the plush red carpet, he stood shaking and wondered why. Why had he practically run from the boy when just yesterday he had longed to race out and meet him? Why? He hugged himself, feeling a chill despite the warm heat that filled the room. Why? His head hung as he thought he knew. Just as his therapist and his doctor warned him, he had lived alone too long. He was totally clueless about how to interact with someone else, someone normal from out there. Part of him yearned to turn around and go back to face the boy. The stronger part was too afraid. Why? Charlie was just a boy, far smaller than he, who would and could cause him no harm. Once upon a time, he would have known what to say, how to act. Couldn't he do it again?

Taking a shaky breath, the man turned toward the side hallway that led to the stairs and his office. He stepped softly, hoping all the while to not encounter any of his employees. He did not want to explain why he was back early from his walk to his small friends, not if he could help it anyway. Reaching a pair of large carved oak doors, he opened one just enough to slip inside. He closed the door and leaned back on it, his eyes shut, a single crystalline tear sliding down a pale cheek. He'd been doing so well and it seemed strange that it had come undone by a child simply knowing his name. **He** had come undone. His lips thinned slightly as they fell into a straight line and his head cocked to one side. How had he guessed his name? How had Charlie Bucket figured it out? Willy Wonka shook himself, standing straight. He removed his hat and hung it on the nearby coat stand. He thought about removing his coat, but still feeling that strange chill, left it on. Why was he cold? His factory was always warm, most would consider it hot. He was so very cold.

With a shiver, Willy drifted over to the huge sweep of windows that overlooked the gates of his factory. He leaned against the window seat and stared blankly outside. What had Charlie thought when he'd run away? He felt a stab as he thought his flight might have hurt or scared the boy. Not physically, oh no, but inside where it would truly hurt the most, in his heart, his mind. Willy was quite familiar with that type of pain. He hoped his fears hadn't inflicted them on the child as well. Stupid! He was so stupid! Why had he run? Why was he so cold? When his hand found the soft blanket on the seat beside him, he immediately pulled it up without thinking and wrapped it around himself. He sat, pulling his legs up, tucking them neatly under the promised warmth of the purple wool. He had felt so close, so very close to making a friend out there. Now the boy would not want to be his friend and it was his own stupid fault. Because he was shy and timid and fearful of everything that lay outside the warm, safe comfort of the world he had built inside his factory.

It was so strange out there now. One hand snuck up and pressed against the cool glass of the window. It was going to get really cold soon. He could feel it, almost taste it. But that was Out There. Inside, it was always warm, because he made it that way. His employees, his only friends, did not like the cold. The cold hurt them. Their home had been tropical so he had made his home tropical. For them, just for them, he would do anything in the world for them. His eyes closed again as he remembered the offer and his promise made to their chief and, by extension, the entire tribe. They were the ones who had made his dream real again. They were the reason he could make chocolate and candy once more to send out to the world to make little boys and girls happy. His confections did make them happy, didn't they? He sometimes lay in his bed at night, unable to sleep, wondering. The sales figures said that people liked his candies. But did they make the children happy? Willy desperately wanted to bring a little happiness into the world, especially for the children. It didn't matter if most of them were greedy brats who always wanted more. He was positive that out there, there were still some children who weren't. They weren't greedy. They weren't brats. They didn't want more. They wanted just a little – a little bit of happiness and joy - children like Charlie Bucket. He opened his eyes, but they no longer saw the city spread outside his window.

In the eye of Willy Wonka's mind, he was inside his little candy shop once more. He was so nervous on opening day. It had been a Friday, the first Friday in February. He ran around the shop checking to make sure that everything was clean and in place. As the clock ticked closer to opening, he almost tripped over his own feet as he reviewed the inventory of candies he made the night before and that morning. Clumsy came easily since he hadn't finished growing yet. Five minutes to opening time, he froze, standing in the middle of the shop – **his **shop! He closed his eyes and took deep breaths and let them out slowly, forcing himself to relax. It would not do to be late opening because he fainted from the excitement. Red leather gloved hands brushed over the matching velvet frock coat, making sure it lay neatly in place. He reached up and checked his top hat, verifying it was there and balanced perfectly on his head of short chocolate curls. He hoped they made him appear older than he was. He did not want eyes looking at him askance, wondering why he wasn't in school! Finding calm, his eyes opened and watched the last seconds tick away.

One minute to opening, Willy raised the shades, letting the winter sunlight into the new store. At nine thirty sharp, Willy Wonka unlocked and opened the front door of the gaily decorated candy shop. He bowed to his first customers, a large smile showing perfect white teeth. "Welcome to Wonka's!" The next twelve hours were a whirlwind of activity that he could never recall clearly. He had sold candy by the bar and the bag and the box. His little cash register rang merrily throughout the day as his stock was depleted. One thing he did remember, very clearly, were the smiles of delight on the people, especially the children, who entered his shop as they tasted the small samples he handed out in between sales. Exactly nine thirty that night, he escorted his last customers of the day out the door. Tired hands locked it and lowered the shades over the windows. He stood in the middle of his candy shop, his stomach growling complaints for he had worked straight through, not stopping for lunch or dinner or anything else. Willy turned around to survey his surroundings and saw that he had a lot of work to do if he was to have enough to sell the next day.

After quickly eating the sandwich he made for lunch, he briefly visited the bathroom to refresh himself. Willy removed his coat, pulled on an apron and turned his hands to creating more chocolate and candy treats. He hummed happily as he worked. He went to bed at midnight, falling immediately into a well earned sleep, only to rise again at four thirty in the morning to produce even more candies. That first Saturday convinced the young chocolatier that he could not continue running his shop alone. If he tried, he was going to find himself continually running out of stock before the day was over! He would also probably fall out from exhaustion eventually, even if he did feel like bouncing with energy at the moment. As he carefully counted the day's take, he was surprised to realize how much money he had made in just two days time. With a warm smile, he set to work making a sign for the window in his best flowing script. Help Wanted! The red marker moved carefully and neatly across the white poster board. Friendly, personable person needed to run counter and help with stock. Apply within between 8:00 and 9:30 in the morning, 9:30 and 10:00 in the evening. At that moment, Willy Wonka could never guess how his little shop was going to grow and flourish.

Willy's iolite eyes blinked open and his mouth rounded in mild surprise. He wondered if he could calm himself like that again. It might not work meeting an adult out there, but surely if he did the breathing exercise thing he could manage to exchange a few intelligible words with a child, with Charlie! A look of hope appeared on his face, and then faded. What if Charlie didn't want to talk to him again? After all, he had run away from him without a word. He picked at the blanket where it wrapped his knees. He supposed that, maybe, he should, well, apologize to Charlie. How? Gosh darn it! He was so bad when it came to talking to people now. He hadn't spoken to anyone out there except for that nasty lawyer (which had left a very bad, horrible taste in his mouth) in years and years and years. (He wished he hadn't talked to that man because it had reminded him of all the reasons why he didn't want to talk to people out there any more.) All of his business transactions were done in writing, in letters and emails and contracts and invoices and bills of lading and purchase orders. Even his banking and taxes and audits were all done in written correspondence.

He couldn't remember the last time he had actually picked up a phone and called outside the complex. He wasn't even sure he had a working phone line any more since that high speed stuff that didn't require a phone had become available for internet access. (He reminded himself to ask Doris if he still had an outside line. If anyone would know, it was her. She kept track of practically everything for him!) The internet had simplified things tremendously. It also made him feel somewhat less of a freak since lots of people now conducted their business through it.

In fact, there were times when Willy wondered if he even remembered how to speak English. It was English, wasn't it? He frowned in thought before brightening again. Yes, he had taught many of his workers how to speak and understand English, not any of the other languages he had known once upon a time. They generally didn't talk in it, which was why he felt so out of practice, but they almost always sang songs to him in English.

All well and good, but it didn't solve giving Charlie an apology for his rude behavior. He couldn't send him an email because the boy didn't have a computer. He supposed he could send a letter, but that might make his p- p- p- … THEM, his mom and dad, wonder. He could get one of his workers to sneak it into Charlie's bedroom, but that seemed impolite and slightly frivolous. He needed to save the sneaky stuff for important things like repairing that poor little broken down house. Still, apologies **were** important. In some ways, they were extremely important. He supposed he could just hand it to him when they met in the park, **if** Charlie (and his own fears) would let him near enough to hand something over. But if he did that, he really should just say it. Speak out loud. Converse as it were. Talk.

A soft tap on his door drew Willy's attention away from his thoughts. He stood up, walked over and opened the door. His eyes immediately and automatically went down to see one of his employees standing there. He went down on one knee so they were closer to face to face. "Yes," he signed in his workers' language, "what is it, Toupa?"

Toupa, who was called Roger in English, leaned forward to whisper into his employer's ear, gesturing. "The coats are ready. So are the hats and gloves."

"Good. Very good," Willy gestured. "It will be extremely cold soon." He paused in thought for a moment. "What about socks?" Thick, warm, soft, fluffy wool socks to keep feet nice and toasty and comfy. He hated cold feet which was why he always wore thick, soft, fluffy wool socks. His boots were made for thick socks and, amazingly, his feet had never overheated.

Roger crossed his arms and bowed. "We can have a couple of pairs ready for each Bucket in a day."

"Excellent!" Willy clapped his hands in delight. They would be ready before that cold front moved into the city. His mouth opened as a thought struck him. Here was a way to send an apology to Charlie! "I would like to see the coats."

"Right away, Coompa-Ka," Roger crossed him arms and bowed again. Just as Willy had given English names to all the Oompa-Loompas, they had given him names in their language. Coompa-Ka was the name the Oompa-Loompas had given Willy after coming to his factory and seeing what he did. It meant Sweet-Cocoa-Maker. Actually, Willy had been given several names, but that seemed to be his favorite one. Most of the others made him turn pink and try to hide. The Oompa-Loompas only brought them all out on major ceremonial occasions. Sometimes they had to trick Willy into attending which they found very amusing.

While Willy waited for Roger to return with the coats, he pulled out a pad of paper and proceeded to try and form an apology. Dear Master Charlie… No, that was much too formal and weird. Dear Mister Bucket sounded like he was writing to Charlie's f-f-fa… his dad. Dear Charlie. He hoped that wasn't too forward. They hadn't even been formally introduced yet. Willy scratched his head with his pencil. _Simple, just keep it simple!_

Dear Charlie,

I apologize for my behavior. May we try again?

Sincerely,

W

Willy considered the words. It was certainly simple enough and it said what he wanted it to say. Was it enough? Was just signing a W wrong? Should he sign it Willy or Willy Wonka? But if he did that and someone else, someone not Charlie, saw it they would realize he was leaving the factory. He didn't think he was ready for that yet. Especially if it was one of those no-good, thieving, candy copying, candy maker cads or one of their spies! Willy shuddered at the thought. He didn't know which were worse, his rival candy makers or the spies that did their dirty work. He deliberately blanked the thought of the black day he had been forced to close his factory down. Part of him felt nauseous. An echo of an old pain stabbed through his head. He shook himself to remove the memory. He didn't have time for this right now. He quickly copied the note out in pen on a piece of unmarked stationery. Searching the center drawer of his large oak desk for an envelope without the Wonka logo, he found a clear box of everlasting gobstoppers. He had been working on the gobstoppers for a little over a year and still wasn't quite ready to release them to the public. Still, the last batch was extremely tasty. He looked them over and picked out one that was creamy white. It tasted like vanilla mint crème and was one of his favorite flavored gobstoppers. He wrapped the candy in red cellophane and then almost wrapped his note over it.

Willy hesitated in thought and added a postscript to his note to Charlie. Do not bite or chew on the gobstopper. It will break your little teeth. He checked his pockets and pulled out a lavender and gold ribbon. He didn't have a clue where he had gotten it from, but it would serve to finish tying up the gobstopper into a neat little package.

The candy maker looked up as Roger and two other Oompa-Loompas entered with the new coats in their arms. "Splendid! Bring them here," he signed. He examined each coat and praised them for their fine work. They were sure to keep their new owners warm and snug even in the worst winter storm. As Willy turned to his desk to get the gobstopper and note for Charlie, the sound of drums came over the factory's speaker system. His head tilted to one side as he listened to the summons and he frowned slightly. The beat said there was a minor emergency and told him where he was needed in the factory. Remembering how many minor emergencies managed to crop up when the weather outside changed drastically and how some things had been allowed to slide recently, he grabbed his pen to add yet another post script. Please forgive me. It may be awhile before we will meet again. There is a lot of work to be done at the moment. I hope to speak with you soon. He quickly wrapped his note around the candy and wrapped the ribbon around the edges of the paper to hold it in place. He finished it with a neat bow and slid the little package into the inside pocket of Charlie's new jacket. He zipped it up and crossing his arms, bowed to his workers. "Please hurry with the socks. Everything must be delivered within the next two days. It will get really cold on the second night. Check with the weather prognosticators if you wish." He paused to add before he headed for the door to handle the latest problem. "I think the first snowfall is coming."


	12. Chapter 11 Storm Front

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

A.N.: Thanks to my reviewers and readers. :)

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**Chapter Eleven - Storm Front**

Charlie fretted anxiously on his way home. Had he just ruined everything? Had he scared the reclusive candy maker back into his factory? He was now almost absolutely positive that his gentleman was indeed Mr. Willy Wonka. Almost, though there was still a tiny niggling doubt in his mind. He tried to hide his worry and concern from his parents, not wanting to upset them. He made an excuse of a big test coming up in geography (which there was) and was soon able to retreat to his room to focus more on his studying. If his eyes strayed to the chocolate factory on the hill frequently, well, that was just so he could reiterate in his mind what he had just read and remember it better. At the same time, he was considering how to coax his gentleman back outside, an admittedly difficult, maybe even impossible, feat, if he was Wonka.

Charlie wasn't surprised when he did not encounter his gentleman the next afternoon in the park. He was startled to find a fat package on their doorstep when he reached home. "Mom?" He called, staring at the wrapped bundle, wondering where it had come from and what it was. Hope fluttered into his heart. Was it from his gentleman? If it was, maybe things weren't irreparable!

"Dear?" Mrs. Bucket stuck her head out the door. She blinked in mild shock at the latest surprise. She rather thought the repairs to their home had been the peak of her shock. After that, nothing seemed quite as surprising or shocking any more. "Well, let's get it inside and see what it is." She shivered. "It's cold out here." She hastened to get her son inside the warmth of their house and smiled to think that it really was comfortable inside. It was no longer just a few degrees difference, thanks to their mysterious benefactors.

Charlie and his mother considered the soft parcel sitting on the kitchen table for a full minute. "You open it, Charlie," she said with a smile. He hadn't been present when they'd found the baskets, and while he had discovered the astounding renovations, it wasn't the same as opening a package.

With tentative hands, Charlie Bucket teased at the knot holding the whole thing together. His fingers, still a bit numb from the cold, did not want to cooperate at first. Finally, he got the ribbon untied. The bundle fell neatly open, revealing its contents. "Coats," Charlie exclaimed with wide blue eyes.

"Coats," Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement. She picked up a lovely teal blue coat and smiled brightly. "I think this one is your size, Charlie."

Charlie accepted the offered garment and gently stroked the soft fabric.

"Try it on."

He didn't need to be told twice. His fingers, now much warmer thanks to the cheerful fire in their fireplace, quickly undid the buttons of his old jacket. It was worn and far too thin for the falling temperatures outside. He pulled on the new coat and smiled brightly up at his mother. "It fits!" This was the first time he had ever received something new to wear, at least that he could remember. "It's so warm," he stroked the sleeve, and then put his hands in the side pockets. Charlie pulled out the gloves and matching hat with a huge grin. "I guess I'm ready for winter now," he told her cheerfully.

Mrs. Bucket smiled back. "I think we are too." She held up the burgundy coat which looked like it would fit her perfectly. She checked the pockets and, sure enough, found matching gloves and a hat as well. There was another coat sitting on the table. It was a warm chestnut brown and looked like it was Mr. Bucket's size.

"Check the pockets," Charlie urged her. "Let's see Dad's hat and gloves."

With a grin, his mother proceeded to do just that and got a surprise. One large pocket yielded the expected items, but the other revealed several pairs of soft, fluffy charcoal socks. "Well, that's a surprise!" She unrolled them and found there were six pairs. She handed the smallest pairs to her son. "Your father is really going to like his new coat."

"So am I!" Charlie stroked the soft fabric and sighed happily. His mother hung her new coat in the closet and laid Mr. Bucket's coat on the couch to await its new owner's arrival. Somewhat reluctantly, Charlie removed his coat and carried it over to the closet. He noticed the inside zipper and was surprised to feel something inside the pocket. He checked his mother's new coat and found a zipped pocket on the inside. It, however, proved to be empty. He unzipped his pocket and pulled out a small round package wrapped in paper. He started to call his mother, but suddenly hesitated. He looked around to see her focused on fixing dinner. He carried his book bag, socks and the object up to his room. He sat on his bed and unwrapped the small package carefully. He stared at the little ball, wondering why he had been given a white marble. As he examined it, his eyes accidentally fell on the wrapping paper and he spotted the writing. Relief flooded him as he read the words.

Charlie felt like he was going to burst with joy as he realized he hadn't scared away his gentleman forever. He examined the note and looked at the W signature, comparing it to the W on his Wonka chocolate bar wrappers. It was a perfect match! His gentleman really was the Great Mr. Willy Wonka. The boy thought he would never stop grinning and wondered if he could explain why he was so happy to his parents without actually telling them. He thought Mr. Wonka might prefer to remain anonymous to the world for now. He also did not want to betray the great candy maker's trust. According to Grandpa Joe, it was betrayal which had driven his gentleman away from society in the first place. Spies among his employees had stolen his greatest secrets and caused Mr. Wonka to close his factory down. Apparently, Mr. Wonka had thought it would be forever, but then something must have happened, something unknown to the world, which had allowed him to reopen. Perhaps he had spent the years that the factory was shutdown automating everything so he wouldn't need to risk letting people inside again. And now… Now, he was venturing back out into the world and he, Charlie Bucket, had somehow earned his trust. Did Mr. Wonka actually remember Grandpa Joe? Was that why he trusted Charlie himself? He liked to think that Mr. Wonka had known Grandpa Joe would never **ever** steal from him, that he would never betray the great man's trust, that Mr. Wonka had closed his factory only because he wasn't sure of enough of his other employees' loyalty to continue running it. He looked at the 'marble' and realized it must be the gobstopper mentioned in the brief note. Tentatively, he licked it and his grin broadened as the rich taste flooded his mouth. That was good! He had never heard of gobstoppers before. They must be new. Charlie felt very special to be receiving a brand new Wonka candy.

For the first time in his life, Charlie wondered what their lives would have been like if Grandpa Joe had continued working for Wonka Worldwide until finally retiring. Somehow the boy knew that life would have been far, far kinder for the Bucket family. Maybe his father would have also worked for Wonka, instead of Smilex Toothpaste. (Charlie thought that Mr. Wonka would pay his workers more than Smilex did, especially cap screwers.) He licked the gobstopper and imagined his father bringing home new candies instead of warped toothpaste caps. He wondered about going to a Christmas party at the factory and what it was like inside. He decided they'd have an enormous tree inside with bright lights and colorful ornaments and tinsel. There would be lots of good things to eat. Every employee and their family would receive a little present, maybe a specially made sweet just for them. Perhaps Mr. Wonka himself would hand them out, bowing to each person, thanking his employees for their hard work throughout the year and wishing them well for the holidays. Or perhaps, he would make a speech and have a Santa Claus to hand out the presents. Christmas music and laughter would fill the air along with the delectable aroma of chocolate. Yes, Charlie Bucket thought that Mr. Wonka's factory would be full of joy at Christmas time. He wondered if Mr. Wonka would have closed the factory for a holiday break starting with Christmas Eve with all the workers returning after New Year's Day. He decided Mr. Wonka would continue paying his employees while they enjoyed the season at home with their families. Grandpa Joe had said Mr. Wonka was a generous man.

Charlie sighed wistfully. It was pity his grandfather never mentioned Christmas at Wonka's factory. He wondered why that was. He had talked a bit about Christmas at the candy shop, describing the special holiday candies that they had made and sold, including a little chocolate flute that played Christmas carols when you ate it. He had even spoken of coming in one morning to find Willy Wonka humming Christmas songs and dancing as he hung decorations around his shop. It had been the first Christmas at Wonka's so there were several surprises. There had been a Christmas tree that, much to their astonishment, the employees got to eat after they closed on Christmas Eve. Grandpa Joe said the tree had looked absolutely real and was actually the most delicious chocolate mint fudge he had ever tasted. They'd been allowed to take home the ornaments, which also appeared real but were colored spun candy, as well as what was left of the tree after the impromptu party. Mr. Wonka had sent everyone away with bonuses in their pockets and an injunction not to return until the second of January.

Grandpa Joe was the first to come back from the break and he found a most disturbing sight – a worn out Willy Wonka attempting to make crème filled chocolate letters. Their boss had worked the shop entirely by himself from the twenty sixth through New Year's Eve, draining even his boundless energies. After discussing it with each other, his workers had boldly told their employer that he was not to do one bit of work more until the following Monday. They stated it would not do to have the owner of the most successful candy shop in town hospitalized from exhaustion. Mr. Wonka meekly returned to his quarters over the shop to rest and recover. They had thought their strategy a great success, until they realized he was sneaking down after hours to work on the newest candies. Grandpa Joe said after that everyone took parts from the machines home with them for the remainder of Mr. Wonka's enforced vacation. They had also padlocked the pantry doors and cabinets so Mr. Wonka wouldn't have any ingredients to make candy. They took turns bringing in tempting meals for him to eat so he would have no reason to go to the grocers or cook. Their boss pouted and sulked (To their amazement, he never threatened to fire them.), but his cheerful nature soon reasserted itself and he had returned to work on Monday, merry and chipper, once more full of more energy than all his employees combined. That first Christmas had set the tone for all the ones that followed until Wonka replaced his candy shop with the chocolate factory.

Charlie managed to dampen his huge grin in time for dinner by thinking sad thoughts about his grandparents' passing and reminding himself that it might be days or even weeks before he saw Mr. Wonka again.

**- W – C – F –**

The following day, temperatures had fallen even more. As Charlie walked through the park, the heavy, leaden gray clouds released their burden in rain as the temperatures continued plummeting until it started to freeze. The boy gratefully pulled his new hat more snuggly over his ears and shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his new coat. No one would be out in this type of weather unless they absolutely had to be. He decided to forgo his usual visit to the factory in favor of getting home as quickly as possible, before everything froze solid. He stepped carefully, not wanting to slip on any ice, as he made his way down the hill. Charlie hoped his father would be allowed to come home soon. The trees and power lines were already sagging under the building ice.

Despite Charlie's care, he soon felt his feet slip. A hand caught his shoulder just as he would have fallen. He looked up to thank the person, only to feel his heart leap into his throat. "Mr. Wonka?" A shock ran through him as his muddy gray brown eyes met his gentleman's for the first time. Never had he seen eyes that color! Mr. Wonka's eyes sparkled with energy, flashing from a brilliant purple to bright blue and back again as he checked to make sure the boy was all right. Charlie shut his eyes, thinking he couldn't have seen that. He had never, ever heard of anyone having purple eyes before! He opened his eyes as he recovered his balance. "What are you doing out in this weather?" Realizing that sounded ungrateful, he hastened to continue. "Thank you for catching me," he said, feeling a sudden surge of humor and familiarity, "again."

"You're welcome, Charlie," Willy responded softly. He shivered, now was not the time for timidity or nervousness. This weather was not fit for man or beast. When the chocolatier realized that the storm he'd felt building for the last two days was about to let loose with freezing rain just as Charlie would get out of school, he had called one of his workers to find out if his school had let out early in the face of the winter storm front. Discovering that it hadn't been, he immediately dropped everything to bundle up and come out to find the child. There was no way he was going to let the boy walk home by himself, not in this weather. He wouldn't want anyone to wander around in this freezing muck alone. It just wasn't safe. "Let's get you home." He prodded the boy to start moving down the sidewalk, careful to remain on the outside, closest to the street. If drivers hadn't changed much, at least some of them were going to be driving too fast for the worsening conditions.

The pair made quite a sight to see, the gentleman in his top hat, long, black, fuzzy great coat flapping around his ankles, cane tapping along to help keep his balance and the boy in his teal green coat and matching wool hat. Every time Charlie felt himself start to slip, there was a purple gloved hand steadying him. He was extremely grateful and took great comfort in that hand being there. "I hope they let Dad out from work soon," he told Mr. Wonka, repeating his earlier thought aloud.

"Yeah," Willy nodded, "everybody needs to head home now or just stay where they are." His sharp eyes spotted a car sliding at them as it sped through an intersection. He tensed, only to relax as he realized it wouldn't come up on the sidewalk. When another car slammed into the first one with a great grinding crunch of metal, giving it additional momentum, Wonka immediately jumped, pushing Charlie away from the street and the out of control cars as the vehicles came skidding straight toward them.


	13. Chapter 12 Guiding Light

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

A.N. For those of you who don't like cliffhangers. ;) I really don't know where that one came from; it just snuck up on me.

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**Chapter Twelve – Guiding Light**

"Ow," Willy whispered softly to himself as his knees collided with the sidewalk. His head tilted to one side as he looked back at the tangled cars. The drivers were out, already yelling at each other and ignoring the pedestrians they had almost hit. He released a silent whew when he saw the nearness of the miss. His head suddenly whipped around. "Charlie!"

"I'm all right," Charlie sat up from where he had landed when Mr. Wonka pushed him. Fortunately, he'd hit a soft patch where ground, normally full of flowers, had recently been tilled and hadn't frozen yet. "That was close! Thank you, sir," he said to the man, his eyes shining with gratitude and concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Mr. Wonka responded promptly. He used his cane to push himself to his feet, ignoring the pain he felt. He was fairly certain he'd bruised and skinned both knees, but there was no need to worry the boy with something so trivial. He shook his head at the oblivious drivers. "Let's go before another car decides to join that metal knot."

"Yes, sir," Charlie resumed picking his way down the sidewalk. "You know they would have hit me if you hadn't…"

"Pish, think nothing of it, dear boy. I'm just glad I was here to help." Willy frowned as he realized it was getting awful dark for the time of afternoon. The freezing rain was getting heavier and sleet pellets had decided to join in the 'fun'. The streetlights which would normally turn on automatically weren't. The power must have gone out. He saw Charlie was getting more nervous as the gloom and fog thickened. He was feeling jumpy as well, every sound from the street making him flinch slightly. Mr. Wonka struck the sidewalk with his cane twice. To Charlie's astonishment, a soft glow began to emanate from the shaft. As they walked, the illumination increased in strength. Suddenly, a bright beam of light pierced the heavy clouds overhead. The light began to rotate, flashing in and out of sight.

"What is that?" Charlie asked as he stared at the phenomena, his heart lifting. Between Mr. Wonka's cane and the light overhead, it was now easier to see his way.

"It's a light," Willy responded with a grin.

"But where is it coming from?"

Willy Wonka looked around carefully; trying to make sure no people were close by. Which was actually quite silly as no one else was out in the storm, except for the occasional car sloshing or sliding by. He bent over slightly and answered the question in a loud whisper, "From the highest smokestack of my factory." He giggled at the shocked expression on Charlie's face.

"It's never done that before!" Charlie Bucket almost stopped walking.

"Well, I'm normally not out in weather like this either," Mr. Wonka said, feeling that was quite the reasonable response to "never".

Charlie stared at the light and then looked at Mr. Wonka. He saw a small, mischievous smile tugging at the corners of the candy maker's mouth. "That's amazing," he said, because it **was** amazing and wonderful. Had Mr. Wonka lighting his cane turned it on? He itched to ask, but didn't want to presume too much. As they neared the foot of the hill, he decided he had to try and satisfy his curiosity. It wouldn't hurt to ask and Mr. Wonka could answer or not as he chose. "Did you turn it on? When you tapped your cane?"

"Truthfully, Charlie?" Mr. Wonka smiled at the boy who nodded. "No, I didn't."

"Then how?" Charlie started, only to be gently prodded by Mr. Wonka toward his home.

"Some other time, go home, Charlie. Get out of this nasty weather into where it's warm and safe and dry."

Charlie glanced at the little house that had always been home. He felt comforted by the sight. "Perhaps you should come in as well, Mr. Wonka. It's not safe out here," he turned toward the man and stopped talking. There was no sign of his gentleman. He had departed as silently as he had appeared.

**- W – C – F –**

Mrs. Bucket almost cried in relief when her son walked through their front door. "Thank goodness, Charlie, I was so worried. I was getting ready to come find you."

"It's a good thing you didn't, Mom, it's really nasty out there."

"Are you all right?" She hugged him close and tousled his hair, before kissing his forehead.

"I'm fine," Charlie hesitated for a fraction of a second in doubt, "my gentleman walked me home."

"He did? Where is he? Didn't you ask him in, Charlie?" As he'd said, it was extremely nasty out there. She wouldn't leave an animal outside, never mind a man who had been kind enough to look after her Charlie.

"I tried, Mom, I really did, but when I turned around he was already gone."

His mother ushered Charlie to the kitchen table and made him sit down. She went over to the stove and began to fix a cup of hot chocolate to help warm him up.

"Mom," Charlie looked up at his mother with big blue eyes, "he saved my life! A car slid through an intersection and then another car came through and hit it. They were skidding right toward us, but he pushed me out of the way."

Mrs. Bucket's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes brightened with tears. "Oh my stars! Thank goodness and your gentleman that you're all right!" She didn't know what they would do if something had happened to Charlie. "The next time you see him, tell him thank you." She hugged her son hard after putting the mug in front of him. "It doesn't seem enough. I wish we could do more to show our gratitude."

"I hope Dad's okay. I hope he gets home soon!"

"Me too, Charlie, me too." She didn't tell him that his father would be fine. Charlie knew how harsh life could be sometimes and how quick death could come. He'd learned that when his grandparents had died.

**- W – C – F –**

Mr. Bucket hurried as much as he could with the conditions of the streets and sidewalks. He'd almost wished he'd stayed at the toothpaste factory, but knew he would just be pacing around, worrying about his family. He sent a silent thank you in gratitude to the kind people who had left them the coats yesterday. It turned out they really had needed them now. It was autumn according to the calendar, but winter had no regards for men's measurements of time. He never would have guessed that it would be like this when he left home that morning. He hoped and prayed Charlie's school had let the students out early and his son was safely at home with his mother. He jumped back as a car splattered slush across the sidewalk.

The power outage was not helping the situation. Drivers weren't thinking and were just going through the intersections. The four way stop rule was being completely ignored. He wondered how he was going to cross the street. He would have to do it soon. Mr. Bucket had been hoping to reach an intersection where the traffic lights still worked, but it appeared the blackout was affecting the entire city. A car, moving far more cautiously than the others, crept past him. Another car blew its horn as it rushed past. It clipped the corner and the car was knocked over the curb. The second car didn't even slow down. Mr. Bucket hurried over and tapped the driver's window. "Are you all right?"

A pretty blonde in her mid-twenties rolled the window down and looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and scared. "I think so." She shivered at the close call. "This wasn't in the forecast. I wish I was home now."

_Me too_, thought Mr. Bucket. "Let's see about getting you back on the road."

"If I was closer to home, I'd say forget it and walk."

"Well, the way these crazies are driving, it might be safer," Mr. Bucket paused, "if you don't have to cross the street that is."

"Actually, my home is on the other side."

"So is mine," he told her.

She shook her head as they heard the crunch of another collision somewhere close by. "I think I'd really rather walk." She suddenly smiled. "Here's a thought. If we can get my car off this curb, I'll drive you to the other side and we'll both walk. I just hope I can find my way in this mess."

Mr. Bucket started to answer when a bright light pierced the murk overhead. It vanished and then returned. They looked up in astonishment as the beacon continued rotating steadily, breaking the cloud cover.

"Where in the world is that coming from?" the woman exclaimed. "I never heard of an inland lighthouse. Well, except for the Great Lakes."

"I," Mr. Bucket stared up and frowned in thought, "I think it's coming from the chocolate factory."

"The factory! But…" The lady stared up at it and examined her surroundings. The man was right. The only thing in town tall enough were the smokestacks of the Wonka factory. The direction was right as well. "It must be the factory. I wonder where they're getting the power from."

"Mr. Wonka must have a UPS." Seeing the woman's confusion, he added, "batteries and backup generators."

"I guess so. One more thing to thank the man for, I love his chocolates."

Mr. Bucket grinned. "Doesn't everyone? Put the gear in neutral and I'll give you a push."

"All right," the driver said. "Thank you."

"Let's see if I do any good first and then I'll thank you for the lift to the other side of the street." Mr. Bucket walked over to the front of the car and pushed as hard as he could, trying to get it to roll back over the curb. It rocked slightly, only to settle in place again. He took a deep breath and set his feet, pushing hard, only to be unsuccessful. It would be so much easier if someone else were helping. He looked around, hoping to spot another person, but didn't see anyone. Then, he saw a strange glow coming toward them. Was it a flashlight? Perhaps carried by a police officer? As he watched, a man, in a top hat and black great coat, using a cane, walked out of the fog toward him. The cane was the source of the light!

The newcomer touched the brim of his hat. "Allow me to assist." He carefully laid his cane on a nearby bench, before joining Mr. Bucket in front of the car.

"Thank you," Mr. Bucket told the gentleman sincerely, "I appreciate your help." Together, the two men pushed at the car. It moved a little bit.

"As hard as we can, on three," the gentleman stated. Mr. Bucket nodded. The man counted down and they both leaned forward, putting all their weight and strength into shoving the car back on to the pavement. It started to move, finally bumping back over the curb and into the street where it belonged.

"Thank you! You're both my heroes!" The lady exclaimed to the two men. She looked at the newcomer. "May I offer you a lift?" She laughed. "I'm only going to drive to the other side of the street; this gentleman and I are going to walk home. I don't want to drive in this," she cringed as they heard a loud screech.

"Thank you for the kind offer," the gentleman said, "but I think not." He tipped his hat and bowed slightly, before picking up his cane and continuing on his way.

"Well, lucky for us that he came along," Mr. Bucket mused as he climbed into the passenger seat. _Strange, I wonder who he is._

"Lucky for me that you both came along," the woman smiled at him, gratitude shone in her eyes.


	14. Chapter 13 Home!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – Home!**

Mr. Bucket was never so glad to arrive home as he was that afternoon. "Good evening, Buckets!" He called, all the while hoping his son was safe and warm at home.

"Dad!" Charlie bounded over to his father and wrapped him in a huge hug. "You're home!"

"Welcome home, dear," Mrs. Bucket added as she wiped her hands and went to make more hot chocolate for her husband.

"Thanks to Mr. Wonka and a nice lady, Charlie," Mr. Bucket told his son.

"Mr. Wonka?" Charlie looked up at his father in astonishment. Had his father met Willy Wonka?

"I don't know why he turned it on, but that light from his factory was a blessing. It made it a lot easier to find my way home."

"Lady driver?" Mrs. Bucket eyed her husband, trying to appear jealous. "Was she pretty?"

"Quite lovely, actually," Mr. Bucket responded to his wife's teasing with a twinkle in his eyes. "A bit young for my taste though." He walked over and wrapped his arms around Mrs. Bucket's waist and gave her a kiss.

Mrs. Bucket sat her husband down at the table with a mug of hot chocolate to warm him up inside. He took a sip. "Did school get out early, Charlie?"

"No," Charlie answered.

"Charlie's gentleman escorted him home," his mother added, exchanging telling looks with his father. "Tell him about the cars, Charlie."

So Charlie told about his walk home. He finished by saying that his gentleman was gone when he tried to invite him in. "I hope he made it home safely."

"I do too," Mr. Bucket said with honest concern. The Bucket family owed Charlie's gentleman a lot of gratitude. He told his little family about his own trip home. "I wonder who that man was. I've never see him before." He shrugged slightly. Of course, he didn't know everyone in town, but the man had been dressed quite distinctively and looked very distinguished.

"That's my gentleman!" Charlie exclaimed as he mulled over his father's description.

"Really?" Mr. Bucket exchanged startled looks with his wife. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. If Charlie always met his gentleman in the park up the hill, what was he doing where Mr. Bucket had encountered him? It couldn't be near his home; otherwise, that park would be out of his way. There was another, newer and much nicer park over near where they'd pushed the car back on the road. Surely the man wasn't just wondering around in that storm! What if he was lost? With Wonka's factory acting as a beacon, it was kind of hard to get lost. If you knew where the factory was (which everyone did as something that size was impossible to miss) and could see even a little bit of your surroundings, you would immediately know which direction to go in. He hadn't acted like he was lost, though Mr. Bucket knew some people who would never ever admit such a condition. "I hope he wasn't lost."

Mrs. Bucket went over to the kitchen counter to start making dinner, thinking about Charlie's gentleman. It was early, but with the power out it would be best to get the meal fixed and served. She was very glad that she didn't use an electric oven or range. "Perhaps he was going to check on someone, family or an elderly friend?" She glanced up to where the light hit as the beacon on the chocolate factory gleamed through Charlie's window. He couldn't be lost! That was just nonsense, she hoped it was nonsense.

Charlie wondered if he should tell his parents his biggest secret, that the gentleman was Mr. Wonka himself. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking about it. He really did not want to betray Mr. Wonka's trust. Would it help his gentleman if his parents knew? He could not think of a single reason for the man to go in the direction he obviously had taken after bringing Charlie back to his home. The thought of the candy maker wandering around town, lost and cold and alone, made the boy shiver. The light bounced back around and lit up part of the house. He relaxed slightly. He felt better just knowing that light could immediately guide Willy Wonka back to his factory. So why hadn't he gone home? Would the light remain on as long as Mr. Wonka was out in the storm? Charlie remained silent, praying Willy Wonka was all right.

**- W – C – F –**

Willy Wonka slipped silently through the small left-hand entry of factory gates. He was shaking with the cold and felt more than a little damp around the edges. He hastened to get inside. The candy maker felt himself immediately start to relax as the warmth of his factory surrounded him. It was wonderful to finally be home! Anxiously waiting Oompa-Loompas immediately swarmed forward as soon as the door was shut tight. Some formed a pyramid so they could help their employer take his wet overcoat off. Mark, an Oompa-Loompa dressed in a red factory jumpsuit, squealed in distress when he discovered the ripped knees in Mr. Wonka's trousers. His cry brought several more Oompa-Loompas forward. After a rapid, silent Oompish conversation, one of the little workers scurried away, intent on finding Luke who served in the Factory as Willy's medical doctor. Three others rushed to his quarters to see about starting a warm shower, turning on his whirlpool tub and warming the sheets on his bed.

Still shivering, Willy tried to reassure his concerned friends that he was fine. His knees were only skinned and bruised, really and truly very minor. They didn't need to fetch his doctor or warm his bed, though he truly appreciated the thought of a warm shower and a nice soak in his whirlpool bath to take the chill out of his bones. As the swarm of Oompa-Loompas urged him toward his quarters, he caught the eye of one of them named Patrick. "Leave the light on, it is aiding others in finding their way home," he hastily signed to the Oompa-Loompa. "Thank you for remembering to activate it. It was a great relief and of tremendous help to me out in the storm."

The little Oompa-Loompa blushed with pride at Coompa-Ka's praise. He was delighted that he had managed to be of assistance while their tribe's dearest friend was braving the horrid winter storm. The nearest Oompa-Loompas patted his back, grateful Patrick had remembered the beacon that he helped Coompa-Ka install all those many years ago. It had not been needed in all the time they had lived in the Factory and many had completely forgotten its existence. Not Patrick, he had remembered his first major job for Coompa-Ka, for Willy Wonka. He had been fascinated by the lens they had manufactured and the stories Willy had shared about the magnificent lighthouses guiding ships at sea which had inspired its creation.

Willy gently chased the Oompa-Loompas out of his bathroom and gladly stripped off the cold, damp clothing he still wore, dropping it to the floor. He'd worry about picking it up later. He stepped carefully into the warm shower and just let the water beat down on him. The heat was a welcome respite after the freezing rain and sleet outside. Finally starting to feel almost human again, he lathered up some shampoo and began to wash his chocolate hair. He did it slowly, massaging his scalp with long, strong fingers and relaxing even more. Tranquility replaced the anxiety he had felt outside of the factory compound. He rinsed his hair under the shower and then began to apply conditioner. A soft hum of happiness began to fill his throat. Finishing with his hair, he shut off the shower and stepped out, immediately heading for the spiraling heat of his whirlpool bath. He stepped into the almost too hot water and hissed slightly, before sitting down and leaning his head back on the soft pillow placed at one end, gladly sliding under the sweet scented bubbles.

"Ow!" The hot water sharply awakened the pain in his knees. Willy hastily bent his legs so his knees were above the water. He sat up and examined them with a critical eye. He prodded the tender skin with gentle fingers, long practice causing his eyes to adroitly avoid seeing his bare hands. (For Willy Wonka considered his hands ugly and he persistently refused to look upon them in any fashion, if he could help it, when his gloves were off.) As he had expected, he had taken the skin off of both of them and a faint blue tinge indicated the start of bruising. Some of the tears were still oozing blood and a clear serum in spots. The shower had helped clean away any dirt and dry blood, so he patted them carfully with a clean lavender washcloth. He considered getting up to get something to put on them from the medicine chest, but immediately decided it could wait until after he had finished thoroughly enjoying his bath.

Willy had just leaned back on his pillow, when the door to his bathroom opened part way. He really didn't need to look to know who it would be, but he did anyway. "Hi Doctor Luke," he said in English, wiggling his fingers at the Oompa-Loompa in a white jumpsuit with a red cross on it. "You really didn't need to come."

Dr. Luke paused at the words. "You've decided to speak English now," he responded in the same language, his tone was part question, part statement. His voice was unusually deep for such a tiny person. Willy had almost entirely given up speaking aloud a long time ago. It felt strange to hear his light tenor after so long.

"Uh, yeah, I need the practice," Willy admitted, "if I'm going to have a proper conversation with Charlie."

The Oompa-Loompa nodded in understanding, secretly glad Willy's interest in the boy was bringing him out of his shell. He would have to let Edmund (Oolo in Oompish), Willy's therapist, know. He expertly climbed the edge of Willy's tub and looked at his knees. "You really like Charlie, don't you?" He was careful to sound casual as if just making conversation.

"He's a nice boy, a good boy," Willy said absently as he shaped a bunny rabbit out of the bubbles. "You really don't have to do that, you know. They're just scrapped," he added with a shrug. He stared off at the far wall, a distant look in his eyes. "They don't have a lot."

"The Buckets?" Dr. Luke queried softly as he pulled a cream out of his bag to rub on to Willy's scrapes to help prevent infection. He knew, as all the tribe did, that through Charlie, the family's situation had reached in past the barriers and tugged at Coompa-Ka's generous, gentle heart. Sometimes, Willy managed to hide it, acting childish and self-centered, but the Oompa-Loompas all knew just how kind Willy Wonka really was, despite the deep scars on his spirit. They knew what he had done for the tribe and how much of his money was donated to worthy causes, especially those that benefited children and animals. One of his other name's in Oompish was Pataki, meaning Dear-Heart. Dr. Luke wasn't sure Willy knew why they had given him that particular name.

Willy nodded slowly. He started changing the bunny into a snowman. He smiled, pleased by the results. Maybe he would make candy snowmen for children who lived where there wasn't much snow. "Are you done yet? I have work to do." He'd have to hurry if he wanted to get them out before winter was over. If he didn't, they would have to be for next year, though he supposed it might be fun to have snowmen in the summer, though summer was winter in the other hemisphere. He shook his head in confusion. Still, he thought they would be fun and he would make them taste really good. He'd need a flavor that reminded you of snow though. Maybe he would make packages of candy snow and they could make their own snowmen and if they wanted they could make snowballs and have candy snowball fights. He could include candy carrots and candy button eyes and candy rocks for buttons and a candy hat and candy scarf so they'd have everything they needed if they wanted to make snowmen. Maybe he'd do alternate packages so if they wanted they could make candy snowwomen too. The girls might like that. If he had a bunch of candy accessories, they could make whole snow families; maybe even a snow cat or dog. Yeah, that was a good idea. He'd have to get to work on it right away!


	15. Chapter 14 Quiet After the Storm

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**A.N. **Okay for some reason this chapter didn't want to be written, but it is. Finally! Hopefully the next chapter will be less stubborn.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – Quiet After the Storm**

Charlie thought he would never fall asleep because he was worrying so much about Mr. Wonka. The light on the factory's smokestack continued to rotate and he was very afraid his gentleman had not returned home. However, after the last time his eyes slid shut, they opened on to daylight. Sunlight reflected in a blaze of brightness off of the ice coated world. The boy sat up in his bed, eyes blinking in the brilliance of the stillness and blue sky. He looked at the chocolate factory and immediately spotted the sweet scented smoke pouring from the multiple stacks and knew, or thought he did, that all was right in Willy Wonka's world. He sincerely hoped it wasn't because the machinery was on automatic. Surely the factory would stop if something bad happened to its owner? The sound of voices drew his attention to the kitchen and common room. Charlie rapidly dressed and slid down his ladder to greet his parents. "Good morning Mom! Good morning Dad!"

"Good morning Charlie," his parents chorused back together. A small battery operated radio was sitting on the table, tuned to the news. Mrs. Bucket stood to fix her son some breakfast.

"No school today, Charlie," his father informed him.

"Or work?" Charlie sat down beside his dad.

"Or work," his father acknowledged, hiding his worry. He really couldn't afford the lost wages, but no one was going anywhere unless there was an emergency that absolutely required it, at least, not until the ice thawed.

The announcer on the radio was talking about the closings for the day. Reaching the end of the long list, he continued, now doing a story about Wonka's factory. "Last afternoon, while this early winter storm front was dumping freezing rain and sleet, causing a citywide power outage, a most unusual phenomenon occurred. A beacon of light appeared, blazing through the gloom, freezing rain, sleet and fog, lighting the way for stranded travelers. The light appears to have come from one of the Wonka chocolate factory's many smokestacks. Long time residents indicate that this light has never been seen emanating from the factory before. The beacon continued rotating throughout the night, guiding many people home safe and sound. Thank you, Mr. Wonka, for providing a lighthouse to guide us safely through this freak winter storm."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Wonka," Mr. Bucket said as he turned off the radio.

Mrs. Bucket placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Charlie. "I say thank you to Charlie's gentleman." She fondly tousled her son's hair. Thinking about what might have been still sent a shiver up her spine. It would have been so easy to have lost their only child.

"Yes, a very big thank you to your gentleman, Charlie." Mr. Bucket smiled warmly at his son. "I wish we could do something to show him how much we appreciate his helping Charlie."

"And you and that lady, Dad," Charlie reminded his parents.

"Absolutely right, Charlie," his mother nodded firmly. She wondered just what they could do to show their thanks. From Charlie's and her husband's descriptions, she didn't think he was in need of anything that they could provide.

Charlie looked down at the table, eating and listening as his parents discussed doing something to, though they didn't know it, thank Mr. Wonka. Was there something that **he** could do? He liked the thought of showing his appreciation and it might make it easier on his gentleman to talk to him again. He was still very sorry that he had scared him away. He really hadn't meant to do that.

**- W – C – F –**

Willy Wonka had spent his evening in the Inventing Room working on his latest idea of snow candy. The base was fairly easily created, now if he could just get the flavor right. He didn't want the taste to be too strong as he wanted it to remind the eater of real snow and those rare, crisp, perfect winter days. He would have still been there if the Oompa-Loompas hadn't teasingly chased him out around one in the morning. Up at his usual early hour, the candy maker immediately returned to his Inventing Room, not even pausing for breakfast. He knew perfectly well that Charlie would not be stopping outside the factory gates for several mornings due to the winter storm so didn't even bother to look for the boy.

The chocolatier was frustrated trying to find the subtle flavor he knew he needed and wanted for the candy snow. It had to be delicate and light. Everything he tried so far came out too strong and heavy or just seemed, well, wrong. Mentally sneering in dissatisfaction and with his stomach growling at him in hunger, Willy finally decided to take a break. Maybe after a quick lunch and doing something else for awhile, he could come back with a clearer head and achieve his goal. Leaving a roomful of relieved Oompa-Loompas behind (They'd been afraid they would have to tie him up and drag him out to get him to eat), he walked quickly down the hallway, his cane tapping on the floor. He considered taking the elevator, but decided against it as it wasn't that far to the nearest break room. He would get a bite to eat there and then do a spot of paperwork, before making a round of inspections of the chocolate bar lines.

Willy bent way over, using his cane for balance, to examine the offerings in the dispensing machines. They were really made for his workers, but he should be able to find something to eat. He frowned slightly and made a face as he saw some of the selections. He loved chocolate as much as anybody, probably even more, but broccoli in chocolate cheese sauce? Ew! He finally settled on a salad sprinkled with cocoa powder. He gave some Oompa-Loompas eating salads the chocolate salad dressing from his, which was fortunately in a separate little container. He really would prefer a nice vinaigrette dressing or maybe an Italian or ranch on his salad, but would eat it plain rather than add the chocolate. He settled at the single human sized chair and table in the corner to eat. He let his mind drift through various problems, tasks, ideas and schedules, knowing the Oompa-Loompas would not bother him while he had lunch unless it was a real emergency.

Finished eating, Willy took the Great Glass Elevator to the administration offices to see if Doris, his Oompa-Loompa personal assistant, had anything he needed to handle. He complimented her on her new pale peach colored dress before sitting cross-legged by her desk to sign several purchase orders for more supplies and reviewed the current inventory levels, making notes of what else needed to be ordered. He checked the test results from the new scheduling and routing software and nodded in approval. It would be ready to go into production soon. He wrote instructions for some minor modifications to further randomize the algorithms and gave them to Doris for delivery to the programming team to implement. He read the memo from the Payroll and Tax team, noting that the final modifications for year-end still hadn't been released by the software company, but then they always seemed to wait until the last minute to make those available. It was the same every year, usually because the government was so late announcing the change notices. A thought struck him as he realized the date and he looked up. "Doris, please be sure to order a Thanksgiving turkey for the Buckets. I want a really good one. It needs to be here by the Tuesday before so I can roast it." She nodded eagerly and promptly keyed a reminder into her calendar so she wouldn't forget. Willy winced as he stood up, feeling the torn skin on his knees pull painfully. He smiled at his personal assistant as she signed her concern. "It's okay. They'll be as good as new in a few days." He gave her a little wave after entering the elevator as it jerked sideways and then dropped down to take him to the production rooms for the chocolate bar lines.

As soon as he stepped out of the Great Glass Elevator, Willy knew he would have to do maintenance on at least one of the machines here. He could hear a slight jerky stutter in the normally smooth rhythm. That just wouldn't do! He went over and removed his coat, hanging it and his hat neatly on some pegs on the wall. He pulled on purple coveralls to protect his clothes and put on a cap, carefully tucking his hair up so it would be out of the way. He grimaced as he flashed briefly on the one time his hair had gotten snarled in some small cogwheels. Fortunately, he was always very careful to make sure the machines were locked off before he started work on one so he had only had to untangle it. He had absolutely zero desire to be an example to his workers of what could happen if you forgot to lock a machine in the off position. He even disconnected some of the more dangerous ones from their power supply just to be safe.

The room's supervisor, Harry, an Oompa-Loompa dressed in an orange jumpsuit, joined him with the maintenance logs and he rapidly scanned the tiny writing, before shutting down the line where the problem was located. He removed his toolkit, walking down the production line to the stamping machine. With fully focused attention, Willy shut off and locked the controls for the giant stamper and disconnected the power supply. He leaned his cane nearby, undid the cover and lay down on his back, twisting and squirming around until he slid the top part of his body inside. He removed a small battery powered lantern from his toolkit and turned it on so he could see what he was doing. The candy maker swiftly lost himself as he delicately manipulated his tools, searching for the source of the trouble.

**- W – C – F –**

Charlie Bucket lay on his stomach on a small rug in front of the fireplace, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He concentrated on the picture he was drawing as he worked on a card for his gentleman.


	16. Chapter 15 Bad Timing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 15 – Bad Timing**

As usually happened, things finally started to thaw out and life in the city began to return to normal. Power was restored, Mr. Bucket gratefully returned to work and Charlie returned to school. He didn't particularly want to return to school as it was almost time to break for Thanksgiving. None of the children did, but (also as usual) the adults didn't ask them about it. Because of the missed days, everything ran a little long on that first day back as the principal and teachers tried to pack all the ideas for the upcoming holiday into one day so they would be back on schedule. This meant that instead of their last class of the day, Charlie and the other students had to attend an assembly planning the play that the school would put on for their parents to see. Charlie Bucket sighed silently and shifted restlessly in his seat. He really didn't see why he had to be there. It wasn't like he was ever picked to do anything. Most of the other children were feeling the same way, which, naturally, led to the rowdier, more rambunctious ones to start a spitball fight. This, sadly, delayed things even more as the principal and teachers fought to restore order and handed out discipline.

That was why Charlie Bucket was late getting out of school. He kicked at a frozen clump of mud, feeling angry because he just knew he had missed his gentleman. The card he had made for Mr. Wonka, zipped safely away in his inside coat pocket, poked him in the side, reminding him of the reason why he had particularly wanted to meet the candy maker that day. The only good thing that he could find from the delay was that he wouldn't have to worry about bullies for awhile since they all had detention. As Charlie entered the park, his head turned, rather naturally, toward the chocolate factory. His steps slowed to a halt. There were flashing red lights and blue lights and amber lights all over the road leading up to the complex. He looked wildly around and saw even more lights flashing through the bare trees on the road that circled the factory. What was going on! He desperately hoped nothing had happened at Wonka's or to Mr. Wonka himself.

Charlie found himself running toward his street which led to the front gates. His gray brown eyes were locked on the factory, trying to spot the reason for the flashing lights, through the gaps of the rows of identical buildings. As he reached the road, a little splash of plum red color caught his eye and he whirled around to see his gentleman sitting on the bench at the end of the park's path. The boy felt his heart drop out of his throat and return to its proper place. He sighed in relief as he slowly approached the gentleman. "Hello Mr. Wonka."

Willy Wonka jerked back in surprise. Where had the boy come from? The man let out a small fake laugh to cover his shock. "Hi Charlie." He shifted to one side to give Charlie room to sit on the bench beside him if he chose. His violet gaze returned to the front gates of his factory, staring wistfully at the safe refuge, desperately wishing he could return. It dawned on him that wasn't being fair to the boy now sitting at his side and his eyes shifted so he could peer at him from the corner of one eye. He noticed that Charlie was also staring at the factory and the emergency vehicles.

"What's happening?" Charlie's eyes shifted to a blue green as he turned to look up at the pale face of his companion.

"A tanker truck," Mr. Wonka spoke with slow care, "carrying hazardous material slipped on a patch of ice and hit a power pole." He sighed resentfully, his whole posture slumping in dejection. "Nobody can go up there until they say so."

Charlie glanced back at the accident site before returning his gaze to Mr. Wonka. His brow furrowed in concern. "How long will that be?"

Willy's eyes dropped to the head of his cane and he shrugged. He huffed, a small cloud forming from his breath. "Nobody seems to know." A huge shiver suddenly ran through his slender frame and he pulled his fluffy black great coat tighter around himself. His gloved fingers fumbled at the buttons and began to fasten them.

Worry immediately returned to flood Charlie and he slowly placed a hand on the man's arm, not wanting to frighten him like the last time. "You can't just stay here." He felt the tremors under his fingers and his alarm flared. Charlie pulled off a glove and reached up carefully to gently touch Mr. Wonka's cheek. He frowned as his gentleman's eyes slid close at the touch. Mr. Wonka seemed to huddle deeper into his collar, like a turtle seeking protection in its shell. His skin felt ice cold. "You need to go somewhere warm to wait," he stated firmly, looking around for an appropriate place as he pulled his glove back on. _Maybe the coffee shop? Mr. Wonka can get something hot to drink there._

A bark of startled laughter came from the man's throat before he could stop it. Willy shook his head in disagreement, not looking at the boy. He tried to suppress his shuddering. "I'll just st-st-st sit here, Charlie."

"No, it's too cold." Charlie stood up, a stubborn look appearing on his face. He thought hard, trying to think of what to do, of how to convince Mr. Wonka to go inside somewhere. It wasn't like they could go up to the policemen routing traffic and people away from the accident and ask them to let the chocolatier into the factory. He nodded as he made up his mind. "You're coming home with me."

The candy maker shook his head and sat further back on the bench, his arms folded obstinately in front of him. He might have gotten somewhere if his cane wasn't visibly shaking from his shivering. Charlie shook his head and wrapped a hand firmly around one elbow. He tugged determinedly to make the man stand up. Willy was stunned to find himself on his feet and walking down the street, doggedly guided by the smaller boy. For such a skinny, little guy, he sure was strong! Resigned to going with Charlie, he concentrated on walking, his right leg aching. Charlie immediately noticed that his gentleman was leaning more heavily on his cane. He released his gentleman's elbow and shifted his position to wrap an arm around the man's waist, offering his shoulder to help him along.

**- W – C – F –**

Mrs. Bucket turned to greet her son when he entered, only to freeze, her words remained unspoken as she stared at the pale man leaning heavily on Charlie. She closed her mouth and hastened over to help get him to the old couch near the fireplace. The stranger's eyes were clamped shut and he was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. He sat blindly on the couch in a miserable, wretched knot. From his clothes, she knew that this must be the gentleman who had helped Charlie and her husband on the day of the ice storm. "Charlie?"

"I found him in the park," her son said, anxiously staring at the man. Gray eyes full of worry turned pleadingly to his mother. "He can't go home because there was an accident, a tanker with hazardous material. They're not letting anyone through."

Concerned by his paleness, Mrs. Bucket reached out to touch the back of her fingers on the gentleman's forehead. She frowned when he flinched back. Both Charlie and Mr. Bucket had commented on the man's fair complexion, but surely this pallor wasn't normal. The man was starting to actually look gray and his skin was much too cold. "Perhaps we should get a doctor," she started, stopping when the stranger shook his head.

"Whangdoodle," he whispered softly to himself, and then spoke in a louder tone. "No, please, it… I…" He shivered heavily and curled up on the couch into a tighter ball, dejected and full of pain. Willy had finally recognized the symptoms. He'd originally thought it was because he had become too cold sitting in the park, but now knew better. It was warm in the little house. He should be warming up and he shouldn't be hurting like this. "Relapse. Insect-sect st-st-sting. Doc-doctor can't can't help." He swallowed and buried his face in his knees.

"Charlie, get some blankets," Mrs. Bucket directed, "the pink ones." She gently removed the top hat from the man's head and laid it on the table, deciding to leave his coat on for more warmth. Bustling over to the kitchen, she took out a pot, filled it with water and placed it on a stove burner to heat. She turned on the burner under the kettle to heat as well. She checked the cabinets and refrigerator, wishing she had some chicken stock to make a broth. She began to chop up several of the vegetables that they had been given, tossing them into the pot to simmer into a soup.

Charlie had returned with the requested blankets and carefully wrapped his gentleman into their soft warmth. He began to gently pat Mr. Wonka on the arm, trying to comfort and sooth the man. He took in the strange, short fringe of hair on the man's forehead. It made his haircut look even odder. The boy shook his head and focused, full of anxious worry, on the ill man.

Willy's iolite eyes peeked out at him, blinking a great deal. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Charlie said, "you'll be okay." With lots of coaxing, he finally got Mr. Wonka stretched out on the old couch. He sat on the floor beside him, holding on to one purple gloved hand. He'd thought the gloves were latex, but now that he was touching it, it didn't feel like latex. It didn't feel like rubber either. He couldn't decide what it really felt like other than supple and soft, but decided it didn't matter at the moment. Without thinking, his free hand reached up and began to stroke Mr. Wonka's silken chocolate hair, offering what comfort he could to his new friend, just as he had when his grandparents had taken ill.


	17. Chapter 16 Nursing an Odd Patient

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 16 – Nursing an Odd Patient**

The kettle began to whistle. "I'll make some peppermint tea," Mrs. Bucket said, opening a cabinet and pulling the container of tea out.

Charlie shifted slightly, examining the miserable candy maker's face before asking him softly, "Would you prefer hot chocolate?" Receiving a slight nod, he looked over to his mother and spoke in a louder voice. "How about making hot chocolate instead?" His mom looked at him with a question on her face and he nodded at her. She shrugged and reached for the tin of hot chocolate. He watched for a second as she removed the kettle from the burner and pulled the milk from the refrigerator.

It didn't take her long to microwave the milk and stir in the cocoa mix. Mrs. Bucket walked over to the couch and sat the mug on a small table beside it. She reached out to help the man sit up. A tiny frown appeared on her face as the man flinched back from her again. In fact, the stranger seemed to wish the battered cushions would swallow him up. She observed silently as her son assisted his gentleman, still wrapped snuggly in the blankets, to sit upright. Mrs. Bucket handed the warm mug to her son and walked back to the kitchen to check on the soup. She kept a concerned eye on the pair as Charlie helped the man to steady his hands and take a sip of the hot chocolate. _Who hurt him so badly that he fears adults?_ Or perhaps, he was only bothered by women? He certainly didn't seem to mind her son's help. Still, **someone** had apparently hurt this man, quite badly based on his reactions so far.

Charlie was relieved to find Mr. Wonka wasn't shaking as much as he had been once he finished his hot chocolate. "Let's get your coat off. You'll be more comfortable."

Mr. Wonka blinked a bit and looked puzzled. He looked down at the blankets and his arms. He seemed surprised to see he was still wearing his outside coat. "Okay Charlie." He stood unsteadily and let the blankets fall on to the couch. He tried to undo the buttons, but he was too shaky. The boy gently pushed his hands away and started to do it himself. Willy sighed silently, feeling like he was the little boy, and let Charlie unfasten the buttons. He obediently moved as the boy directed to get the coat off. He thought he was being very good when he didn't even object to having his frock coat removed. When Charlie urged him to sit back down, he gratefully did so. A bewildered expression appeared on his face as the child undid his shirt pin and slipped it into one of his coat's pockets.

Seeing his gentleman's confusion, Charlie spoke, repeating himself. "You'll be more comfortable."

Willy finally nodded in understanding.

"Do you want to lie down again?"

The chocolatier tilted his head down and considered the question. He **wanted **to go home. However, he knew that he couldn't, at least not yet. They were probably still working on clearing the accident and he was also too shaky to make it all the way, even if Charlie helped… Even if Charlie and his m-m-m-Mrs. Bucket helped. Besides, his leg still ached something fierce. Not as bad as it had been and certainly not as bad as when he'd been stung, but it hurt quite a lot. He looked up at Charlie and wondered what he was waiting for. Oh yeah, he'd asked him a question. What was it? Remembering, he shook his head slowly.

"All right," Charlie said, before pulling the blankets up and wrapping the man in them again. He wondered what he could do to entertain Mr. Wonka. Their television set was a tiny one that his father had rescued from the curbside. He'd had to jury-rig the antenna and its reception was iffy at best. The picture was always fuzzy and frequently rolled. Besides, they only got a couple of channels and it probably was nothing like what the candy maker was used to watching. He considered turning on the radio, but thought that Mr. Wonka probably never listened to the radio. Most people watched television he knew, which just led back to the unsatisfactory nature of their TV.

Willy toed his boots off and curled his legs up under the blankets. He surreptitiously began to massage his right calf where it was hurting the most. He looked around for something to use to distract the boy and spotted a book on the nearby table. "What's that?" he asked, pointing with his free hand.

Charlie looked over to see what Mr. Wonka was pointing at. "A book I'm reading for school. I have to write a report on it."

"Which book is it?"

The boy reached over and picked it up, showing the cover of the school library book to his gentleman. He never got the newer books as they were always checked out before he could get to them. When he did find one on the shelf, it was invariably yanked from his hands by someone bigger than him before he could get to the front desk to check it out.

Mr. Wonka read the title and smiled wistfully. He remembered reading The Incredible Journey by Sheila Burnford himself when he was much younger. He also remembered he had liked it a lot. This would be the perfect distraction for both of them. "Read to me?" He asked, his eyes wide and pleading.

Charlie smothered a laugh. His gentleman had just sounded like a little child begging his parents for a bedtime story, not at all like a grownup. He shrugged and nodded agreeably. At least, this would serve as entertainment for a while. Sitting on the other end of the couch beside the man, he turned to the first page. "This journey took place in a part of Canada," he began.

Mrs. Bucket stirred the soup and listened to her son's voice as he read to his gentleman. She was pleased to note that Charlie had a good reading voice. He didn't drone in a monotone, rather letting the words flow naturally, rising and falling with the emotions that the story evoked. When the soup finished cooking, she almost hated to interrupt. The man was motionless, staring off in the distance, not really looking at anything, apparently completely wrapped up in the book her son was reading. She knew he could probably use the warmth and nourishment though, so she spooned up a bowl, placed it on a tray with some bread and carried it over to the couch. Remembering how the man had flinched from her before, she stayed behind her son and carefully cleared her throat.

Startled, Willy Wonka jerked backward, hitting the armrest. His movement was so abrupt that he began to fall over it. Charlie had also jumped slightly. His eyes had immediately landed on the candy maker. Seeing the man about to fall, he quickly dropped the book and reached out, wrapping his hands around his gentleman's wrist and pulled him forward. Willy sat there, his eyes closed, panting as he tried to slow his speeding heart rate.

Mrs. Bucket, her own heart in her throat, spoke as calmly but sincerely as she could. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to… surprise you like that." She hadn't expected his reaction to be that strong. They were going to have to do something about that. She didn't know what, but they would definitely have to work on it. "I brought you some soup." She anxiously waited for the man to open his eyes. She really hadn't meant to scare him so badly.

Calming slightly, Willy forced his eyes open. "Th-thank you," he answered in a high pitched voice. He faked a giggle and sat up straight, putting his feet back on the floor.

Slowly, Mrs. Bucket placed the tray she was holding in his lap. "Would you like some more hot chocolate?" Soup and hot chocolate seemed a poor combination to her, but if it helped relax the man, she was all for it. She remembered something about it being a comfort food. She knew soup was a comfort food and she suddenly felt like this stranger needed all the comforting they could give him.

Willy looked at Charlie and thought for a moment. He shook his head. "May I have some chocolate milk, please?"

"Of course!" Mrs. Bucket went and poured a glass. She looked at what was left. The chocolate milk was almost gone, there was enough left for one more glass. With a shrug, she poured a second glass and carried both over to the couch. She handed one to her son and placed the other on the little table.

The man swallowed the spoonful of soup he had taken and spoke politely in a quiet tone. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Thanks Mom," Charlie said.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Bucket responded automatically. She walked back to the stove and put the soup on a low simmer. It would be their dinner later. She rinsed out the glass bottle and looked at it thoughtfully as she put it with the other milk bottles. It would be back to cabbage soon. She smiled wryly to herself. She couldn't complain about it though, the things in the basket had lasted a lot longer than she had expected. Of course, they still had quite a bit of dessert, thanks to their renovators' late night visit, but somehow cake and cabbage didn't appeal very much.

Charlie finished his milk and picked up the book from where he dropped it. He flipped through the pages to find where he'd been reading and placed a piece of paper there to mark it. The boy returned his gaze to Mr. Wonka, watching him eat the soup and bread. The man was not shaking as much as before and his color seemed to be improving. He thought about checking for a temperature, but, giving his gentleman's recent response to his mother, thought better of it. He mentally mulled over that reaction or, rather, overreaction. His mother hadn't even been that close! Why? Why was Willy Wonka so scared of people? It wasn't just because he was out of practice, was it?

Willy, aware of the eyes on him, looked at Charlie and smiled wanly. _Snozzwhangers! I'm going to have to do better. _He felt like slapping himself, but that wouldn't solve the problem and would only upset Charlie and Mrs. Bucket. He sighed silently and returned to the soup he was eating. It was quite good. Mrs. Bucket was obviously a good cook as long as she had something to work with. He made a mental note to have another basket of food delivered soon, and then remembered the turkey he had asked Doris to order. _Oh yeah! Heh! Thanksgiving. _ He'd just have to make sure they got a lot of good stuff to eat for the holiday so there would be lots and lots and lots of leftovers. He was sure he would be fine in time to roast that turkey. He took a sip of his milk. He was already feeling better. Which was weird if he thought about it, he knew he'd been deathly ill for three days after he'd been stung and sick for a couple of weeks after that. So why was he feeling better this soon? He just couldn't figure it out. He made another mental note to discuss it with Dr. Luke. He hadn't realized he could have a relapse. He was positive the Oompa-Loompa would have mentioned it if he had known. Of course, he **was **the only person the Oompa-Loompas knew that had survived a whangdoodle sting. It was always painfully fatal to them. Maybe it was the size difference? He was a lot bigger than the Oompa-Loompas after all.

He pushed the thoughts away, returning his attention to the soup in front of him. He'd worry about it after he was back at the factory. He wondered if they were worrying about him. He knew that they would be less worried if they knew he was with Charlie. Still how could they know? Unless someone saw him go with the boy? He wondered if there was a chance that he had been seen with Charlie. His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to remember if any of his workers would have been in a position to see them. He knew he couldn't call them. The Buckets didn't have a phone. Besides, he didn't think he remembered the number for the factory, if he even had a phone. He had forgotten to ask Doris about that. He really should write these things down so he wouldn't forget. Maybe he could get Charlie to take a note? But how could he do that without the boy's p-p-p-p finding out who he was? He put his spoon down. Darn it! He was going to have to think of something! He couldn't let the Oompa-Loompas worry about him! It wasn't right. It just wasn't right.


	18. Chapter 17 Dark and Light Thoughts

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 17 – Dark and Light Thoughts**

Willy Wonka was so wrapped up in his thoughts, trying to find a way to send a message to the factory, that he did not notice Charlie looking at him with a concerned expression on his face. He scratched his head and thought as hard as he could. It was a shame he hadn't gotten those chocolate lemon zappers perfected. He stopped working on that particular candy after discovering that he didn't dare release it for public consumption. One of the effects was telepathy and while a lot of people professed a desire to read other people's minds and many thought it would lead to better understanding, he knew better. That particular ability would cause too many problems and would have been **MAJOR TROUBLE**. The world had more than enough of **that **already. Still it would have been nice just to think at Doris or Dr. Luke or Edmund or Richard (the chief of the Oompa-Loompas who just happened to be married to Doris) and let them know he was okay, well, okayish. Unfortunately, the telepathic effect was **too **strong. The Oompa-Loompa who had tested it had hated hearing the thoughts of people in Antarctica and all points in between for a week. Plus he'd given everyone else in the factory headaches and nightmares. Poor little guy didn't get any sleep the entire time and had taken to continuously watching the most mind-numbingly boring programs (including infomercials) on television in a desperate search for relief. He'd needed some long sessions with Edmund to wean him off of the shows afterwards. Just thinking about it made Willy shudder in horror.

Right, so telepathy was out. A telephone was out. A message delivered by Charlie was a maybe solution. It would probably mean they would have to worry all night, because he didn't see any way that it could be delivered sooner than the next morning. That accident would probably not be cleared until after the boy's bed time. Not that he knew when that was, but he was positive Charlie probably had one. Besides, it wasn't wise to let little boys be out alone at night. Horrible things could happen to them. He **knew** that! Email would be good since it could be delivered regardless of the accident, but no P.C. or internet, so scratch that one. Him going home would be better, but he didn't see that happening today either. Hey! Maybe he could go home when Charlie went to school? Willy surreptitiously eyed mother and son in consideration. All right, maybe he couldn't go home tomorrow. He sighed heavily. Neither one looked like they were willing to let him do anything until he actually felt a lot better.

Willy paused in his pondering as he tried to remember the last time someone (other than the Oompa-Loompas) had genuinely been concerned about his health. A vague memory of his candy shop rose to the surface. He was able to trust his employees then. Some he'd known better than others, like the ones who had started working for him shortly after he'd opened it. They were the best! They had cared about each other. He had been able to pretend occasionally that they had cared about him too, that they hadn't thought he was **too **weird. He'd especially hated having to fire them along with all the rest of his employees when he'd closed his factory. He saddened as he wondered if he should have never built the factory. It had been so much simpler when it was just the shop. There hadn't been any spies to agonize and antagonize him. He had felt like people actually **liked **him for his own sake (and his candies), not because of the fame and the attention and the wealth. He hadn't just been a weirdo freak. He hadn't been! Had he?

Charlie felt anxious as he watched Mr. Wonka's eyes dim to pale, dull lavender. He wanted nothing more than to give him a huge hug and tell him… He sat up straight as he remembered his card. He didn't dare give his gentleman a hug, not for fear of frightening him or something, but he could give him the card he had made.

Willy jerked out of his thoughts when Charlie stood up. He observed with silent anxiety as the boy went to remove something from the inside pocket of his jacket. A quiver of curiosity ran through him as Charlie returned to join him on the couch. He sat forward slightly as the boy quietly offered the paper to him. What was this? He looked inquisitively into Charlie's blue gray eyes as he accepted the piece. "For me?" After the boy nodded, he carefully unfolded the paper. His eyes widened with wonder and his breathe caught as he took in the crayon drawing of Charlie and him standing in the park. Both of them were smiling. Charlie's arm was around his waist and his arm rested on the boy's shoulders. His factory rose above the trees in the background, smoke rising from the multiple stacks. The park was full of flowers and birds. "It's beautiful, Charlie." His voice was soft and quiet. He tried to hand the drawing back to him, but Charlie shook his head.

Charlie Bucket laid a hesitant hand on Willy Wonka's arm. "It's for you," he whispered back, "to say thank you for helping me, us." He was pleased to see his gentleman's eyes brighten slightly, a warm glow and color filling them with light. If they weren't as bright and vivid as before, that was only to be expected given the man's current illness.

The chocolatier gently refolded the precious piece of paper and held it out to Charlie. He smiled slightly at the boy's confusion. "Place it with my pin, please."

The boy smiled and happily complied; glad he had helped brighten his gentleman's day. He returned to sit on the old couch and asked, "Do you want me to read some more?"

"Yes, please," Willy responded gratefully. He picked up his spoon and returned to his soup. He carefully kept a smile on his face as he realized it had grown cold while he was distracted. Ever so circumspectly, he placed his other hand on the bowl and focused thoughtfully for a moment. He felt more than saw a warm, pale, soft yellow glow flow from his hand into the bowl. He was pleased to find he had managed to reheat the vegetable soup in spite of his glove and sickness. He swallowed another spoonful. The chocolatier split his attention between listening to Charlie's pleasing tones as he read, eating his soup and wondering just how he was going to contact the Oompa-Loompas. As he remembered his thoughts about his factory, he realized that if it hadn't been for those dark events, he never would have found the Oompa-Loompas. What would have happened to them if he had never built his factory and hadn't been forced to close it? They would still be in Loompaland, searching for the occasional, rare cocoa bean, eating those disgusting green catepillars, and trying to fight off snozzwhangers and hornswagglers and those wicked whangdoodles. As terrible as firing his human workers made him feel, bringing the Oompa-Loompas to his factory to work for him lifted his heart. Something good **had** come from those dark days. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. Still he wished he could have done it differently. What if he could have kept his factory open, his loyal workers employed and still have found the Oompa-Loompas? He just didn't know. Two small words combined, 'what if' were among the most powerful words in the English language. They could cripple you if you let them or set your imagination and abilities free. A distant look filled his face as he let his mind drift, seeking the answer he needed. He could feel it, so close, so very close.


	19. Chapter 18 Kindness and Truth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Chapter 18 – Kindness and Truth**

Willy Wonka finished the soup and milk. He gratefully gave the dirty dishes to Charlie to take to the kitchen area. He really didn't want to deal with Mrs. Bucket at the moment. The only thing making the situation tolerable was the fact that Mr. Bucket wasn't home yet. Uh oh! He was going to have to deal with both of Charlie's p-p-p mom and dad there soon. He didn't know how he was going to handle **that**. It was sort of okay with just one of them, especially if they were outside in neutral territory so to speak. But inside? **Together! **He really didn't think he was ready for that particular situation. _I'll have to handle it, now won't I? I can't leave now. _He felt he was recovering, but not like he was well. _Weird. _He sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. It was such a tattered, lumpy thing. It was impossible to find a truly comfortable position. Still, he didn't think he should complain. It wasn't like they had better to offer him. So what was he going to do when Charlie's f-f-f dad got here? He wasn't sure, but didn't think he should wait until the man arrived. Mr. Bucket had seemed nice enough the day of the ice storm, but he'd been careful to not think of him as a … papa. In the Bucket house, that fact would be impossible to ignore.

The candy maker pushed his fears away and considered his idea for getting a message to the Oompa-Loompas. It was really quite a simple method which had the drummed messaging system they used in the factory at its core. He would have to wait until it was dark and everyone else was asleep, but it should work. Well, as long as someone was keeping watch at the factory which he was reasonably certain they would be. He rubbed his calf again. Yes, he should be able to handle it and the Oompa-Loompas, clever souls that they were, would be able to respond with an acknowledgement fairly quickly. Willy forced himself to smile back at Charlie when he returned to sit on the couch beside him. As the boy returned to reading the book aloud, Willy worked on steadying his nerves for the forthcoming meeting. He just had to do better! He could do this and he would do this. He didn't have a choice in the matter.

**- W – C – F –**

"Evening Buckets!"

The cheerful greeting from Mr. Bucket made Willy jump a foot in the air. However, he counted it as some sort of victory that he hadn't fallen off the couch and wasn't clamped to the ceiling like a cartoon cat. He worked on slowing his heart as Mrs. Bucket and Charlie welcomed the man home. He blinked in mild surprise. This was nothing like what he remembered from his own childhood. For one thing, he couldn't remember his dad being this cheerful and outwardly affectionate with him. Charlie and his family might be poor in material goods, but there was a lot of love. He shoved aside jealous, wistful thoughts of what his life could and maybe should have been like. It must have been his fault. He must have been really bad to be, well, abandoned as he had been. He should count himself lucky his f-f-fa papa had stayed around as long as he had.

"Hello, Mr.?"

Willy started as he was yanked from his depressing thoughts to realize Mr. Bucket was talking to **him**. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. Even he knew he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "Um, Willy," he looked up briefly, feeling suddenly shy, "just Willy, please."

"Okay, Willy," Mr. Bucket exchanged a look with his wife and shrugged. "Charlie and Mrs. Bucket said you aren't feeling well."

"Oh, well, it's an old malady, actually," the chocolatier explained, staring at the far wall, pretending address the owl he'd painted there. "An insect sting from… several years ago. It sort of crept back up on me. Heh." He looked around at the people watching him, before returning to the owl. "I am feeling better though. Thank you."

"Good," Mr. Bucket nodded carefully, "that's good to hear."

"He couldn't go home because of the accident," Charlie explained to his father.

"At the chocolate factory?" Mr. Bucket frowned. That must have been hours ago. "It must be a nasty one. They're still up there." He'd seen the flashing lights when he'd returned home. He thought Mr. Wonka wouldn't like that at all.

Still there? That wasn't good. Willy hoped they were gone before the next candy pick up. He didn't like having his distribution schedule disrupted and he was stuck outside, unable to do a darn thing about it! He could only hope if it was much longer, that Richard thought to radio the drivers and route them to the back of the factory. They hadn't used it in so long; most people had probably forgotten there was a back way inside. It certainly wasn't as obvious as the front entrance. It would mean a lot of extra work too. The shipment would have to be moved and there weren't any conveyors there. It would take longer because they would only be able to load a couple of trucks at a time, instead of doing them all at once. He wished he could be there to help the Oompa-Loompas.

"I'll just set up the old bed for Willy to sleep in tonight," Mr. Bucket stated. He was pleased when his wife and son nodded approval. It would be unsettling having the grandparents' bed back in the living area, but it would also be more comfortable for their guest.

Willy blinked and shook his head. What was that? He mentally replayed the most recent sounds and started, his mouth rounding in surprise. "No!" He blushed as everyone stared at him. "I mean I… Please don't go to any trouble on my account. The, uh, the couch, uh, sofa, divan, chesterfield is fine. Yeah. I'll be fine right here. 'Kay?" He whimpered silently and turned his gaze to the floor. He didn't want to be a bother and setting up a bed specifically for someone who might only be there one or two night was most definitely a bother. He had slept in worse places before, like the floor of the Inventing Room, under the chocolate line, on the ground in Loompaland. A lumpy old couch was wonderful compared to some of those. Of course, he couldn't tell them all that.

"Nonsense," Mr. Bucket said firmly. "It won't take ten minutes and you'll be much more comfortable in bed." He suited action to his words and hauled the bed frame out of storage into the middle of the living room. Charlie helped him, holding pieces steady while his father fastened them together. Mrs. Bucket helped position the mattress and it really was done very quickly.

Mr. Wonka watched them, feeling miserable about putting them to so much trouble on his account. He flushed in embarrassment when they wouldn't let him help and returned his eyes to the floor. Perhaps he should get them a nice rug? A Persian one or one with geometric designs or maybe something plain or a braided one? Yeah, it was the least he could do considering they were doing all these nice things for him.

Mrs. Bucket hurriedly got clean sheets and pillows, making the bed. Finally, it was ready. Mr. Bucket started over to aid their guest, but stopped as his wife touched his arm and shook her head silently. He blinked in surprise and turned to see his son help Willy stand up on shaky legs. He turned a puzzled frown to Mrs. Bucket.

"He's quite… jittery," she explained softly. "I think someone must have hurt him very badly in the past. He seems to be, well, comfortable isn't the right word, less nervous with Charlie."

This surprised Mr. Bucket. The man had seemed calm enough when they'd pushed the car back on to the road. He definitely hadn't given the impression of possessing bad nerves. Maybe it had been because it was a neutral situation or because he hadn't been sick then?

Mrs. Bucket examined their guest with a critical eye. "You need something to sleep in. You can't sleep like that."

"Oh, no, this is fine," Willy managed to squeak out, "you shouldn't…"

Mrs. Bucket ignored his protests and bustled into their bedroom. She found a clean pair of Mr. Bucket's pajamas, an old night shirt of Grandpa Joe's and one of Grandpa George's pajamas as well. She brought the selection out and offered them to Willy as he sat down on the bed. "You'll be able to rest more comfortably in one of these. Lots of rest is very important when you're ill."

"I…" Willy Wonka looked around, feeling very uncertain. He thought he detected a particularly stubborn glint in Mrs. Bucket's eyes and forced himself to be quiet. He hesitantly examined the clothes. Purple gloved fingers rubbed worn cloth gently. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pulling in faint, lingering scents. Somewhat startled to find an aroma that somehow reminded him of his candy shop, he slowly accepted the night shirt. The fabric was worn to a softness that appealed to him. He had always liked soft things and indulged himself to the fullest as soon as he was on his own and could afford to do so. He carefully stood up again, accepting his cane from the boy so he could go change. This really was too much! He smiled faintly, still stunned by the kindness the Buckets were showing to him, a virtual stranger.

"That was Grandpa Joe's," Charlie informed Mr. Wonka with a soft smile. His blue eyes were full of warm memories.

_Grandpa Joe? Joe? Joe? Joe Bucket? _Willy Wonka swayed in distress. "Joe Bucket?" He unsteadily set the garment down on the bed, shaken to his core. Memories flooded through him of an older gentleman who had worked in his candy shop and, later, in his factory. He had been most kind to a very young shop owner and always called him Mr. Wonka with the utmost respect. He had never looked down on the chocolatier because of his youth or tried to tell him how to do things. And he, Willy Wonka, had fired him! "I…" He shook his head and looked around for his hat and coats. He couldn't stay here. They must hate him! Joe Bucket must have hated him! He was responsible for their misery and poverty. How many of his old workers and their families must hate him? How many lives had he ruined because he had been unable to stop the hemorrhaging of his secret recipes and the factory profits? It was his fault, all his fault. He blinked his eyes, trying to stop the tears he could feel building. He couldn't stay here, accepting their hospitality when he was responsible for so much that was wrong with their lives. It was a wonder Charlie hadn't hated him. Of course, when his parents explained what he had done, he would.

"Willy?" Mrs. Bucket was shocked as the man stumbled away from them as if afraid.

"I…" Willy shook his head. "You must hate me!" He whispered in sick misery.

"Hate you?" Mr. Bucket blinked in bewilderment. He couldn't have heard that right. "Why would we hate you?"

"I… I fired Joe Bucket. I fired all of them. It's my fault!" Willy turned dark purple eyes to look at them, almost black with his anguish. "I'm Willy Wonka."


	20. Chapter 19 Persuasion and a New Visitor

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 19 – Persuasion and a New Visitor**

The simple declaration stunned Charlie's parents. They certainly hadn't expected it as everyone knew Willy Wonka never left his factory. While they stood frozen, just trying to comprehend, Willy limped over to pick up his silk top hat. He carefully positioned it on his head, all the while thinking that he had to get out of there. He had done enough harm to the Buckets already. He didn't need to be a further drain on their limited resources as well. He'd go back to the park bench and wait. They had to clear up the accident soon. He wasn't the only one waiting to go home. He was feeling better and should be okay until then. Yeah. He'd be okay. After all, he'd survived Loompaland. He could survive a short time sitting in the cold. And if it got particularly bad, he could walk around the park and warm up. He clumsily grabbed his frock coat. Shaking, he tried to figure out how to pull it on without falling down.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie darted over to grab the candy maker's arm. He didn't understand why he thought Grandpa Joe would hate him. His grandfather hadn't been like that. He did know Willy Wonka was in no condition to be alone right now, especially not stumbling around in the cold, dark night. "You can't leave."

"I have to, Charlie," Willy tried to extricate himself from the boy's grasp as gently as he could. Such a good, loving child, he didn't understand the situation, but he would. They would explain everything and then Charlie wouldn't be his friend any more. Of course, considering what he had done to them, he probably didn't deserve a friend. The only really good thing he'd ever done with his life was bring the Oompa-Loompas to the factory and, if you really thought about it, he'd done that for selfish reasons. He truly was despicable. He winced as he accidentally put too much weight on his bad leg.

"Wait!" Mr. Bucket took a step toward the slimmer man. The chocolatier jumped back and almost fell as his leg buckled under him. Charlie's father halted, torn between wanting to help and fear of scaring Mr. Wonka into injuring himself. "Mr. Wonka, Willy, wait. You can't go. You're not well." Seeing the other man was not listening, he carefully positioned himself so he was standing between the apprehensive man and the door. "My father, Grandpa Joe most did certainly did **not** hate you. He thought the world of you!"

_The world?_ Willy froze and shook his head. That couldn't be true. He'd fired him and … Uncertainly, the candy maker tilted his head up, trying to see into Mr. Bucket's eyes without revealing himself. How could he be sure? They **must **hate him and yet Mr. Bucket's face was kind and seemed full of concern and worry. He cautiously shifted his gaze to look at Mrs. Bucket. She also appeared worried and concerned. He shook his head again. No, he had been tricked too many times. He couldn't believe they were worried about **him**. No one ever really worried about him. They pretended just to get close and take advantage of him or to use him or hurt him. He must be a very bad person. Every time he thought someone liked him, they left or stole from him or used him or ... People would only do that to someone truly bad. The Buckets were kind people; they shouldn't care about someone bad like him. He was wicked and if they actually did care it was because they didn't understand that. He should get out before they realized the truth. He leaned against the wall and managed to work an arm into one sleeve of his coat.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie cried out. He looked at his parents, his worry and fear for the ill man turned his eyes a stormy gray. "Grandpa Joe loved working for you."

"Then he must have hated me for firing him," Willy responded softly, a quiver entering his voice, thinking that was quite reasonable.

"No! He always said it was the spies' fault," Charlie argued.

_Spies!_ Willy Wonka flinched as if he'd been struck. He didn't want to think about the spies, but if he had been truly clever he should have been able to stop them.

"Grandpa Joe always told me stories," Charlie continued in desperation, "about your candy shop. He told me about the chocolate palace you built."

"Prince Pondicherry was a fool," the chocolatier complained automatically. "If I had known he intended to live in it, I never would have agreed to build that chocolate palace. What a waste of perfectly good chocolate! He should have known better."

"Yes, he should have." Mr. and Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement with their son as he tried to figure out how to get his gentleman to stay. He watched as Willy struggled to put his arm into the other sleeve. He **had **to stop him. "I thought you wanted to try again. I thought you wanted to be my friend."

Willy stilled. His heart lurched at the pleading words. His treacherous memory sprang on them, flashing back to his childhood. Willy had been a small boy, younger than Charlie was now. He was facing another boy, a bigger one who had recently moved into the neighborhood. Willy had helped him to catch up with the others in his classes at school so he wouldn't have to fall back a grade. He spoke, his tone pleading and desperate. "I thought you wanted to be my friend." The boy sneered at him. "You're a weirdo freak! Nobody wants to be friends with you." He shoved Willy hard, knocking him down. The boy kicked the cage of his dental head gear, making him cry out in fear and pain. The other boys standing in front of the movie theater laughed mockingly. He whimpered silently as he watched them walk inside, laughing and chattering together, positive they were saying nasty things about him. He pushed himself to his feet, hoping that the hated cage hadn't been damaged. If it was, his papa was going to whip him again, followed by a long, severe lecture about how important the gear was and how expensive and how money didn't grow on trees. The cut over his eye didn't matter as much as the braces and dental gear. He ran all the way home, trying hard not to cry. Boys did not cry!

Charlie became extremely anxious as Mr. Wonka froze into a statue, his eyes glazed and distant. It was as if he was no longer in the room with them. "Mr. Wonka? Mr. Wonka. Mr. Wonka!" He began to call the man, hoping to bring him back from whatever distant place he had fled to. _Wherever it is, it isn't a very nice place_, Charlie thought to himself as he watched lines of sorry, fear and pain appear on his poor gentleman's face. "Mr. Wonka!" He wondered if he dared actually shake the man. "WILLY!"

Willy's eyes blinked slowly. "I'm sorry I was having a flashback," he said in a distant, dazed tone to the voice that was calling his name. He blinked again and shook his head. "Heh. Sorry." He reached for his outside coat.

"I think it would be best if you laid down, Willy." Mrs. Bucket finally spoke, using that no nonsense tone of voice that mothers everywhere used on their children when they were about to do something singularly brainless.

The candy maker shook his head stubbornly and started to step toward the door, only to have his right leg finally give completely under him. He sat on the floor with a loud thump. His eyes closed for a moment as he drew a deep breath. "'Kay," he whispered, finally acknowledging the fact that as much as he wanted to leave, he couldn't at the moment. His leg hurt too much and he really was too sick.

Mr. Bucket took a step toward the man sitting on their floor. "Let me help you," he offered gently, extending his hand and waited patiently.

Willy stared uncertainly at the hand for a moment. Finally, with a defeated sigh, he placed his purple gloved hand shakily into Mr. Bucket's. Between Mr. Bucket and Charlie, he was soon back up and sitting on the edge of the bed again. Not trusting his leg, he smiled wanly at the fireplace and said timidly, "I'll change… later. Okay?" After the adults nodded in agreement, Charlie helped him pull off his coat and boots again. He stretched out on the bed, his back propped up on a pile of pillows.

Mrs. Bucket tucked him in under the pink blankets and several quilts. She stared sadly at the man lying so miserably in the bed. "Mr. Wonka," she started hesitantly, "Willy, truthfully, we were all very sorry when you closed your factory, but…" She bit her lower lip. "We never hated you for it, none of us did, least of all Grandpa Joe. It wasn't your fault."

Willy shook his head. It **was **his fault. He didn't see how anyone could think or believe differently.

She shared a look with her husband and they withdrew to the kitchen, leaving Charlie with their guest. Mrs. Bucket pressed her fist to her lips. "That poor man," she whispered. Mr. Bucket wrapped his arms around his wife and leaned his head against hers. Neither of them could imagine what it must have been like, locked away behind the gates of that huge complex on the hill, alone and cutoff from the world outside by the pain of betrayal. It must have been a terrible experience and extremely lonely.

Willy Wonka didn't change clothes as, exhausted physically and emotionally, he soon fell asleep. The Buckets were as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb his much needed rest. Eventually, the entire household was sleeping soundly.

**- W – C – F –**

Willy woke with a start. His eyes blinked in the moonlight as he listened. Not hearing anyone stirring, he cautiously sat up. Silently as he could (which was very silent indeed), he slipped on his boots and stood shakily, leaning on his cane. He found his outdoor great coat and managed to pull it on. Quiet as a ghost, he made his way outside and around the house. Leaning against the wall under Charlie's window, Willy stared up at his factory. He longed to return home, but knew that he couldn't just yet. He was lucky to have made it this far without falling again. Willy pulled off one glove and shoved it into a pocket. Shivering, he carefully raised his cane and focused.

Blue sparkles of light danced from his fingertips into the clear glass of his cane. His eyes slid shut as he concentrated on the drumbeats to communicate what had happened to him. His cane pulsed softly in silent time with his thoughts, before finally flaring into a bright violet-blue, brightening and dimming to the silent beat. "I am okay. Accident blocked way in. Feeling sick," Willy saw no reason to say with what, "Charlie took me home. Will return when way is clear and I have recovered. It may be a few days. I will contact you like this if anything changes." He repeated the message three times to be sure they got it all and opened his eyes. His attention immediately turned outward to the factory. He was rewarded by a flash of light inside the huge bank of windows in front of his factory. He felt a wave of satisfaction as it blinked on and off in the same code he'd used. His workers now knew where he was and what was going on. Pleased that they would no longer worry about him, he raised his cane to acknowledge their response, before pulling his glove back on and making his unsteady, silent way back into the little house.

A soft sound woke Charlie and he peeked over the edge in time to see Mr. Wonka discard his coat. The full moon filled the room with light, more than enough for him to see. He watched in silence as the man slipped under the warm covers and snuggled in until nothing showed save a few strands of dark hair spread on the pillow. He wondered what his gentleman had been doing up. He wasn't well enough to be going outside, but now that Willy was safely tucked back into bed, he decided he shouldn't worry too much. Whatever he had been doing, he was obviously done for the night. Hoping the candy maker would not actually attempt to leave until he was well, the boy lay back down and with a yawn, drifted off to sleep.

**- W – C – F –**

Mrs. Bucket's scream woke Charlie and Willy up very early the next morning. Her son scrambled to look over and see what caused it. He hoped his gentleman was all right. Seeing Willy sitting up, his eyes blinking sleepily, reassured him and he looked around for the source of his mother's fright. His breath caught as he spotted a small gray and brown squirrel scurrying across the wall. He immediately headed for the ladder to climb down and help his father to chase the furry intruder back outside. Mr. Bucket had opened the front door and was trying to guide their unwelcome guest out with a broom. It kept dodging out of reach. Finally, it turned and made a tremendous leap to land in the bed with Willy Wonka.

"What are you doing here?" Willy exclaimed as it ran up to him and he finally saw the cause of the excitement, shocking the Buckets. "You're not supposed to leave the factory. It's dangerous outside. There are cats and dogs and mean boys with sling shots and pellet guns. You know about that." He continued scolding the small animal. The man glanced at the people staring at them, an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Flicker really shouldn't be here."

"Flicker?" Mr. Bucket leaned the broom against the wall and looked astonished as the squirrel dropped something into Willy's hands.

"What's this?" Willy examined the little bottle as he gently stroked the animal. "Thank you, but you didn't have to bring this, I'm not that sick." He giggled as the squirrel climbed up to his shoulder and his fuzzy tail brushed against his neck, tickling him. He held up the bottle and explained. "It's a, um, medicine made from cocoa extract. I usually take a little when I get ill." He tried to look at the squirrel when it chattered at him. "What? 'Kay, I'll take some, but you still shouldn't be here. I know you've been sneaking out and going to the park, but it is still dangerous for little squirrels." Willy sniffed slightly and frowned as if offended as the animal continued its fussing. "Yes, I do know about that. Nobody had to tell me." He shook his head, careful not to dislodge Flicker from his shoulder.

Charlie crept quietly over to the bed, trying to get a better look at their unusual visitor.

Willy smiled at the curious boy. "Flicker works for me in the factory," he explained.

Charlie blinked in surprise and asked, wondering, "What does he do?"

"He and the other squirrels crack open the walnuts. They're the only ones who can get the whole nut out almost every single time."

"Really?" Charlie laughed softly as he pictured it in his head.

"Yeah, really, they tap the nut to see if it's good and if it is, they crack it open and put the nutmeat on the conveyor belt."

"What do they do if it's bad?"

"They throw it down the garbage chute, of course."

"How many squirrels do you have in the factory?"

"Over two hundred, most of the ones there now were born in the factory. Flicker came from outside. I found him on the ledge. His little leg was broken." Willy picked the squirrel up off his shoulder and gently rubbed his foreleg. "After he healed, he decided to stay and work for me with the other squirrels. I named him Flicker because his tail is always flicking back and forth. Would you like to pet him?"

"May I?" Charlie looked up at the chocolatier, surprised.

"May Charlie pet you?" Willy asked the squirrel in his hands.

Much to the boy's delight, the squirrel climbed out of Willy's tender hold and across the bed to sit up, his bright, dark eyes looking him over. He chattered again.

"Flicker says you can pet him, but be very gentle," Willy warned him.

Charlie nodded and ever so slowly reached out to touch the small animal. He smiled as he felt the soft fur and gently, carefully stroked him the same way Willy had.

Willy laughed as Flicker chattered some more and tapped his head against Charlie's hand, asking for more. "He likes you, Charlie."

Charlie was enchanted. "I like him too!"

Catching the consternation on Mrs. Bucket's face, Willy asked, "Flicker, how did you get in here?" The squirrel chattered back and the chocolatier turned grim. He gasped and shook his head. "Down the chimney? That was a very dangerous and foolish thing to do! You might have singed your fur," he scolded his odd employee sternly, "or worse. I want you to promise me that you won't ever do that again!" He shook his head again as the squirrel apparently argued back. "Promise me, right now! Or, or I'll put you on discipline report!" A sneaky gleam filled his eyes, "and I'll tell Rosemary about it!" He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Bucket as the squirrel screeched at that and twitched his tail madly. "He really likes Rosemary. He's sweet on her." He giggled as Flicker protested. "Of course, I know all about you and Rosemary." He leaned forward. "When are you going to finish courting her, hmm?" Flicker scrambled over to sit in the man's lap. He chattered some more. "I might be persuaded to give you some ribbon and odds and ends to start a nest." He snorted. "Oh no, you are not getting my hat!"

The Buckets laughed in amusement as the man and squirrel argued back and forth with each other. Charlie reluctantly stood up and went to help his mother finish fixing breakfast for his father. His eyes constantly turned in amazement to the squirrel and candy maker, wondering how Willy Wonka knew what Flicker was saying.


	21. Chapter 20 Dinner at the Buckets

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Chapter 20 – Dinner at the Buckets**

Charlie had not wanted to go to school today. He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to convince his mom to let him stay home. He could have helped her look after Willy. He could have been getting to know his new friend. How wonderful that sounded and felt. He had a friend! It didn't matter that Willy owned the biggest chocolate factory in the world or that he was older than him. What mattered was the fact that Willy liked him and was actually starting to trust him. He, Charlie Bucket, nobody and a nothing, was making friends with the greatest candy maker in the world. It made him feel special and warm inside. It really didn't matter that he would probably never set foot inside the factory or that nobody else would ever know. He knew deep inside that he could never tell another soul. That would betray Willy's trust and his gentleman had been hurt too much in the past. He knew, his parents knew, and it was enough, more than enough. He floated through lessons, not really absorbing anything, doodling drawings of the factory on his papers. Occasionally, he changed and drew a squirrel, but he was careful to not draw Mr. Wonka.

Finally, after an eternity, the last bell rang. Charlie shoved his math textbook and notebook into his satchel and joined the jostling throng rushing for the door. He jogged to the park, feeling rather proud of himself that he didn't run straight home. He paused to look toward the factory and smiled when he saw the emergency vehicles were finally gone. Deciding it would be best to not attract attention by breaking his routine, he hurried up the hill to pause at the huge gates and breath deeply, drawing in the warm, sweet scents. He looked at the front doors curiously, wondering what other animals worked for Willy Wonka. Had he replaced all the people with animal workers? Or were some things automated? As he walked down the hill toward home, he decided he was not going to ask. He did not want Willy to think he wanted to be friends only because of his factory and candy.

Charlie ran home, only to pause at the front door. He slowly and quietly opened it, not wanting to wake Mr. Wonka if he was sleeping. Instead he found Willy sitting up in bed, snapping beans for his mother. The man gave him a quiet smile as she came over and hugged him.

"How was school, Charlie?"

"It was alright, Mom," he answered. "How was your day?"

Mrs. Bucket smiled ruefully at her son. "It was alright," she echoed, "except for a certain stubborn someone demanding something to do, instead of resting like he should." She glared mockingly at their bedridden guest and was rewarded when Willy blushed and ducked his head down, his hair hanging around his face so it couldn't be seen.

Charlie felt a twinge of concern, but when he walked over to the bed, he saw the silent laughter in the violet eyes and grinned as well. "I told you to let me stay home today! I would have helped keep him out of trouble."

"I doubt that," his mother responded as she returned to the kitchen.

Willy cleared his throat, trying to think of something else for them to talk about. "What did you learn today, Charlie?"

The boy shrugged as he put down his book bag. "Stuff." It was his turn to try and change the subject. After all, he couldn't very well admit that he hadn't paid attention all day. "Where's Flicker?"

Willy nodded toward his top hat which had been turn so the brim was up. Charlie walked over and peaked inside to find the squirrel was curled up in a ball, sound asleep. "I guess he got your hat."

"Temporarily," the candy maker admitted with a smile, "until we go home." He had come to an agreement with Mrs. Bucket about Flicker staying with him until he was well enough to leave. He really hadn't been comfortable with the little squirrel returning to the factory alone.

"How do you feel?"

"Much better, thank you, Charlie."

"They finally got the accident cleared away," Charlie stated, a trifle reluctantly, not wanting his gentleman to try and leave just yet. "The emergency vehicles are gone."

"Oh, that is good news!" The chocolatier grinned widely, showing perfect teeth. "That means the trucks will be able to make their next pickup without any problems."

Charlie relaxed slightly when Willy said nothing about leaving. He hung up his jacket, before sitting down at the kitchen table to do his homework. Things were quiet as they worked. Willy finished the beans and exchanged them with Mrs. Bucket for some apples, which he began peeling, somehow managing to do it so the peel came off each one in a single long strip. The boy started chewing on his pencil as he tried to figure the answers to his math homework. He hated fractions!

"Charlie, stop chewing your pencil," Mrs. Bucket warned her son gently.

Willy cringed as he waited for her to yell or crack her son's hand with something. He straightened slowly when neither came.

"Are you having problems?"

Willy's head swiveled to watch Charlie, his head tilting slightly as he waited for the response.

"Yes, I can't seem to add these fractions."

"Perhaps your father can explain them when he gets home."

Charlie frowned down at his math book. "But it's the last bit." He really would rather be done for the day.

"I can do it," Willy said shyly.

Charlie's head whipped around to look at the candy maker. "Could you? I keep getting muddled, because the denominators are different."

"Sure, bring your book here."

Charlie bounced over to the bed with his notebook and math book. He showed the pages of problems that he had to answer to his gentleman. Willy read over the list of problems and went through the boy's answers. He easily spotted the incorrect answers and where Charlie was getting confused. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered how to explain so Charlie would understand and could figure it out for himself. It had been a long time since he'd had to teach someone else fractions. The last time was when the Oompa-Loompas arrived at the factory years ago. He'd used cocoa beans then. Looking at the apples he'd been peeling, he suddenly grinned. He swiftly cut two up and placed the pieces matching the first problem out for the boy to see. Willy's enthusiasm easily carried over to Charlie and they were soon bowed over the apples, their heads almost touching as he explained how to solve the problem. Listening to Willy and finally understanding, Charlie found himself wishing Willy Wonka was his teacher. He made it so real and much easier to comprehend than Mr. Stockmeyer ever had.

**- W – C – F –**

Mr. Bucket entered his little home quietly and grinned at the laughter from the bed near the fireplace. "Evening Buckets! Evening Willy!"

"Dad!" Charlie ran over to hug his father, his mother right behind him with a hug of her own and a kiss.

"Did you have a good day, dear?"

"Yes, I did. How are you feeling, Willy?" He inquired, hoping their guest wouldn't get the wrong idea and think he wanted him to leave.

"Better, thank you, Mr. Bucket." Willy Wonka shoved away another twinge of envy, wishing deep down that he really was part of the Bucket household. He'd never experienced so much love and affection. He was extremely grateful to feel the reflected glow, even if it was from the outside. He gently stroked Flicker who had been doing little tricks to amuse Charlie.

"You can call me Harry, if you like." That only seemed fair since he was calling Mr. Wonka by his first name.

"And I'm Harriet," Mrs. Bucket added.

Willy looked down and shook his head slightly. It didn't seem right calling Charlie's mom and dad by their first names. He never considered whether it was right for them to call him by his first name. He gratefully focused on Flicker as the Buckets discussed their day, catching up with each other.

"How was your day, darling?" Mr. Bucket asked his wife.

"Good," she answered, "Willy insisted on helping me, but I managed to keep him in bed." It was obvious to her that the man was used to working constantly. She wondered if he ever stopped or relaxed. Her husband didn't very often, but it was because they couldn't afford it. Surely the owner of Wonka Worldwide could take a day off!

"How was school, Charlie?"

"Okay. I was having trouble with my math homework, but Willy explained it to me." He grabbed his father's hand and pulled him over to the table, showing him what he'd just learned. His dad nodded as he listened. _Willy should have been a teacher_, he thought. The man had explained himself clearly and in such a way that Charlie not only understood, but could clarify it as well. Harry Bucket looked at Willy Wonka, watching as he slowly petted their other, furry guest in his lap. He thought he appeared lonely. _Poor man needs a family of his own._ He suddenly felt fiercely glad to have his wife and son in his life.

Dinner was eaten from trays while sitting around the bed, just as it had been when the grandparents were still alive. Mrs. Bucket had watched uncertainly as Willy also fed Flicker at the same time from a bag that he'd had Charlie fetch from a coat pocket. The small family had done their best to include Willy in their dinner conversation, but he had said very little.

After dinner, Mr. Bucket stood up and stretched. "Now Willy, I bet you'd be glad to get out of those clothes. I'll help you to the bathroom so you can change."

Willy started and shook his head. "You don't have to," he trailed off anxiously under the Bucket's warm, friendly gaze.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Bucket said as she collected the dirty dishes and took them to the kitchen.

Mr. Bucket threw back the covers, gently wrapping a hand around Willy's elbow to steady him as he stood up slowly. Charlie was immediately there with his cane, anxious to help as well. Flicker chattered at Willy. The boy wondered what the squirrel was saying. Whatever it was, it seemed to make the chocolatier relax slightly. With their aid, he'd managed to make his way to the bathroom without falling. When he came out, it was a shock to see Willy Wonka in a night shirt with his purple gloves still on.

Charlie almost giggled until he spotted the end of a jagged, red scar running up his right leg. He gasped in shock. His parents looked to where he was staring.

"Willy, what happened!" Mrs. Bucket covered her mouth, slightly stunned at blurting the question out loud.

Willy Wonka sat slowly on the edge of the bed, the hem of the nightshirt rising slightly. Flicker scurried over to his lap. They could see the scar was fairly long. Mr. Bucket wondered if it went above his knee. It certainly explained why Willy needed his cane. The cut must have been very deep and painful.

"Heh," Willy faked a laugh, embarrassed, "A small accident, nothing to worry about." He looked down at the floor.

Charlie knelt down in front of him, looking up into his face with concerned gray eyes. "Willy?" That hadn't been a "small accident"; it was a very serious one.


	22. Chapter 21 Old and New Experiences

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 21 – Old and New Experiences**

Willy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about it. He hadn't even truly discussed it with Edmund, his therapist. He certainly wasn't going to tell Charlie. There were things that little boys should not have to know about. Eyes dark as midnight blinked open to find the boy's friendly face still patiently looking up at him, his eyes so genuinely filled with concern that it tugged at Willy's lonely heart. "It was just an accident, Charlie. I'm fine now."

"Your leg, you," Charlie started, not sure how to explain or ask.

"Oh, my leg is lots better," Willy waved his hand as if shaking the worry away. He tried to smile. "Yesterday was because of that wicked whangdoodle, not some silly, old accident. Yeah, see." He pulled the hem of the nightshirt up higher and turned his leg so Charlie could see the back of his calf. There was a small, perfectly round scar. It was obviously older than the jagged cut, but looked puffy and red as if something had irritated it recently or it had somehow become inflamed.

"What is a whangdoodle?" Mr. Bucket wondered. He had never heard of such a thing.

"Oh, horrible creature," Willy looked up as he explained, extremely grateful for the distraction, "very nasty and mean. They're," he spread his hands almost two feet apart, "about that big. Well, the adults are anyway, if you don't include the stinger." He looked down at Charlie and made a face. "Their blood tastes as nasty as they are."

"How in the world do you know what one tastes like?" Mrs. Bucket drew closer to her husband, her brow puckered with bewilderment.

"Oh, I don't know what they taste like, just the blood," Willy glanced up at her as he continued candidly, the color of his eyes lightening to purple as he became wrapped up in telling the story from his past. "I tried it after I cut one in two with my machete when it attacked me." He mimed swinging something through the air, then running his tongue down it. He wrinkled his nose and shuddered in disgust. He stuck out his tongue a couple of times as if he could still taste it. "After that taste, I didn't want to try whangdoodle."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket cringed in revulsion as their son continued, wide eyed. "Is that when you were stung?"

"No," Willy's hands fidgeted, "that happened later."

"Where do whangdoodles come from?" Charlie asked.

"Loompaland," Willy answered. "Nobody goes there any more. There's nothing of value and it's full of nasty creatures like whangdoodles, hornswogglers and snozzwangers."

"Then why did you go?"

"I was searching the world for new candy flavors."

"Grandpa Joe didn't mention anything about that." Charlie looked at his parents to see if they knew about it.

"Oh, this was after I closed the factory," Willy responded. "I had to do something. I got so terribly bored after awhile. I was getting extremely tired of collecting new hobbies."

"Then you didn't spend the entire time inside the factory?" Charlie felt relieved upon hearing Willy say that.

"Oh no, I went on a couple of candy expeditions," Willy shrugged, "and then I discovered the Oom-um, uh, a way to reopen the factory and went back to making my own candy." He faked a giggle, hoping no one had caught his fumble. "I didn't leave after that, well, not until I started walking in the park." He smiled warmly at the boy at his feet. "That's when I met you, Charlie." He reached down and traced part of the scar with his gloved index finger. "Actually, you could say my accident was responsible for us meeting. This is why I started taking those walks and now I'm so very glad I did." His doctor had encouraged him to walk outside to strengthen his leg, saying the sun and fresh air would be good for him as well. After several weeks of stubborn refusals, he had reluctantly agreed when Edmund, Richard and Doris had joined their arguments with Dr. Luke's. He determinedly shoved the darker thoughts and memories of the disasters of the past year away and focused on the happiness that one little boy was bringing to his life. "Yeah."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged telling looks. They did not like to think of Willy injured and all alone in his huge factory. Flicker was a very nice squirrel, but he wasn't a human. He couldn't take care of Willy Wonka if he was hurt again. What if Willy was trapped or knocked unconscious? It didn't bear thinking about and yet, as odd as he was, Willy Wonka was an adult, a competent, successful, if eccentric adult who could make his own decisions. They couldn't tell him "no" like they would their son. Mrs. Bucket suppressed a deep, worried sigh and looked at their guest. "Would you like something to put on it? The sting, I mean?"

"A warm cloth would be wonderful, Mrs. Bucket. Thank you!" He smiled at her and Mr. Bucket. His eyes went back to Charlie kneeling on the floor. He drew his legs up on the bed. The boy knelt up higher, still watching his friend with concerned eyes. Willy patted the mattress beside himself.

Encouraged, Charlie stood up and sat on the bed. He pondered Willy's words, disturbed once more by how much time he spent locked away inside his factory. Willy had lived alone in there for longer than he had been alive! His concerned gaze observed his mother microwaving the buckwheat pack that they had found to use for when one of the grandparents' arthritis was especially bad. She handed the warmed pack to the candy maker who immediately placed it on his calf. He hissed slightly at the heat, but then relaxed, somehow giving the appearance of a contented cat curling up in the warmth of the sun. Suddenly, the urge to hug his new friend surged strongly through him. Hugs required at least two people and would be something Willy must be missing. He remembered how the chocolatier had run away from him and flinched back from his parents. Did he dare? Maybe… "Willy?"

"Yes, Charlie?"

"May I…" It didn't seem right to ask permission to hug someone. "May I touch you?"

Willy's eyes opened wide in shock. He sent a panicked glance at Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, but he saw only amusement and affection for their son. He licked his lips nervously. "O-okay," he responded, not understanding why Charlie asked that, but also not wanting to act like he didn't trust the boy, because he did trust him. It seemed like he trusted him more every day.

Slowly, carefully, Charlie leaned forward and wrapped thin arms around Willy Wonka's chest. He squeezed tight, but not too tightly.

Willy froze stiff in alarm. He shivered uncontrollably. His voice went up in pitch. "Wha-what are you doing?"

Charlie let go and sat up again. His brow puckered slightly. "It's called a hug."

"A hug?" Willy sat there, blinking in bewilderment. _Why would anyone want to hug me?_ The chocolatier stared blindly at the wall. He knew from his reading that hugs were signs of affection. He hadn't been sure how one was done, but now he knew. _Weird! So that was what it was called. _He had seen a few people give them to each other before when he was younger and when he'd had his candy shop. _Weird! _Still, it had been kind of… nice. He felt an unaccustomed glow of warmth inside.

"Willy?" Charlie stared at his gentleman, puzzled. He turned to look up at his parents. _How could anyone not know what a hug was? Willy didn't spend his entire life in the factory. Surely someone has hugged him before. Hadn't they?_

Mrs. Bucket frowned thoughtfully. "Willy, haven't you ever been hugged before?"

Troubled, faintly worried that the Buckets were suddenly not going to like him any more, Willy Wonka blushed in shame. He shook his head silently.

"Your parents?" Mr. Bucket asked in a gentle tone.

Willy shook his head again. He gazed at Charlie from the corner of his eyes and decided not to say everything. He wanted to ask Mr. Bucket and Mrs. Bucket, but not when Charlie could hear them talking. He would question Mrs. Bucket tomorrow after Charlie left for school. He thought it might upset the boy and he didn't want to do that. "Momma left when I was really little. Poppa…" He thought about it and about some of the things he had read. Dad hadn't said quite the same things. "I don't think Dad knew how." He nodded, trying to be fair. His Dad had been so stiff and formal all the time. He'd probably thought a handshake was used to show affection as well as greeting someone or sealing business dealings. He just couldn't picture him hugging anyone. He couldn't even picture him comradely slapping someone on the back, never mind doing that hugging thing that Charlie had done.

The Buckets exchanged looks, stunned by the thought of someone never knowing a hug. Affection was just something that was shown, to live without hugs and kisses… A silent decision was made by the little family.

Harry Bucket cleared his throat. "Willy, you will **always** be welcome here in our home."

Harriet smiled warmly at their guest, nodding in agreement, anxious to reassure the surprised man. "Always."

Charlie leaned forward and hugged Willy again. He looked up at the chocolatier's stunned expression of disbelief. "You can hug me back, Willy," he told him, his voice full of warm affection.

Willy blinked, trying to comprehend. "'Kay." He brought his arms up uncertainly and awkwardly wrapped them around the smaller boy. He knew he was probably doing it all wrong, but it still felt good. Seeing the sunny smile on Charlie's face and the light in his blue eyes, he decided maybe it didn't matter if he wasn't very good at hugging. His eyes closed as he squeezed his young friend gently. Maybe he could learn.


	23. Chapter 22 Them

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Chapter 22 – Them**

Willy observed Charlie's departure for school the next morning, silent and solemn. What would it have been like? What would he have become if he'd known the love that the Buckets showered on Charlie? Would he still have his factory? He pondered the question seriously. Would he have found the Oompa-Loompas and relocated them from Loompaland? That was the most important question in Willy's mind. Above all else, he wanted the tribe of little people to be safe. He would sacrifice everything he possessed, health, happiness and every chance at happiness for them. What would become of them when he was gone? He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.

This concern had started bothering him greatly almost exactly a year ago. He had discovered a single strand of silver during his semi-annual hair cut. That hair showed that he was getting old. That he was mortal and, in the way of all mortals, he would one day die. Since that day, he had suffered one near fatal accident and another, almost crippling one. He had also set foot outside of his factory for the first time since bringing the Oompa-Loompas there. He supposed it had been an extremely full year for him. It hadn't just been candy and candy sales and new candy. There had been more than just the births and deaths among his employees and their families, there had been death inside his family as well. And then there was Charlie and the Buckets. The amount of pure love inside this small ramshackle bit of house was enormous! It was bigger than his own factory which was the largest complex in the city, maybe even the state and region. That they would grace his own isolated life with even a tiny portion of that love was mind boggling. Lids closed despairingly over iolite gem eyes as he puffed a silent sigh.

Mrs. Bucket kept casting concerned looks over at her patient and guest as she cleaned the breakfast dishes. He seemed so serious this morning. His only smile had been given to Charlie when he'd said goodbye. She supposed Willy Wonka was used to silences and keeping his own council, not sharing worries, fears or anything else with others. That wasn't the way things worked for the Buckets. She and Mr. Bucket shared their concerns and hopes, some with just each other and others with Charlie as well. Things were so much brighter and easier when shared. Finished, she gathered her mending and went to sit near the fireplace and bed.

Willy observed in silence as Harriet Bucket began darning a sock. It was a very domestic task, one that he had not done in a very long time. Pondering, he realized that most people probably didn't even know what darning was any more. Garments were discarded at the slightest hint of wear or stain. His own clothes were tended by the Oompa-Loompas now and he didn't have a clue as to what they did with them when they were damaged by an incident in the Inventing Room or some other task or accident. Did they repair them with gentle, loving hands as Mrs. Bucket did for her family or were they ripped apart for rags, to be made into other things, eventually discarded, to be replaced by brand new clothes identical in every way? Considering the idea, he thought that the Oompa-Loompas, tidy and clever as they were, probably repaired his clothes as long as they could do it indiscernibly. Only once an item was damaged beyond their abilities for invisible repair would it face the fate of being removed from his wardrobe. Then what did they do? Did they toss them down the garbage chute for an incendiary end? Did they turn them into rags? Perhaps when he returned to the factory, he would ask the tailors and seamstresses. He should probably suggest that some of the overalls, pants and shirts be repaired sufficiently for him to wear when doing particularly filthy jobs.

Reluctantly, Willy Wonka turned his thoughts to his decision from the previous evening. Now how to approach the subject? He pursed his lips as he contemplated his words. He had no desire to upset anyone, least of all one of his hosts. They had been nothing except gracious and kind to him. Still, the subject was an upsetting one, particularly for those with kind hearts. It was upsetting to **him **and he wasn't particularly known to have a kind heart or any other type, except candy ones. It would be best, he supposed, to just get on with it. "Mrs. Bucket, may I ask you a question?"

For a split second, Harriet Bucket considered saying he had just asked one. However, given the serious and melancholy air projected by the candy maker, she merely stilled her hands and looked at him, waiting.

"Um, this is just hypothetical like, 'kay?" Willy peeked at her anxiously, wondering why he was doing this to himself. Still he had always wondered and now with an opportunity, unlooked for and there, to find out the truth, heknew he had to risk the chance and ask. "What would it take for you to leave Charlie?"

Startled, Mrs. Bucket sat back in her chair, her eyes wide and shocked. _Leave? Charlie?_

"No," the chocolatier shook his head, "that didn't come out right." He sighed and tried again. "What might Charlie do that would make you want to leave him? Hypothetically, that is. Yeah. That."

Mrs. Bucket stared at the man before her, trying to figure out what was going through his mind to ask such a thing. "Nothing, I would never want to leave my Charlie."

"Nothing? Never?" Willy frowned thoughtfully, feeling something else inside of him break. _Oh dear, I must be worse than I thought!_

"Willy, why are you asking?" She could see this was important to him and wasn't just something to pass the time or make conversation.

Willy shook his head, partially lowering his eyelids to hide his feelings. He smiled wide and huge, totally faked. "Just curious."

Mrs. Bucket set aside her mending and leaned forward. She wished she dared to place her hand on his, but didn't want to frighten him. "Willy, you didn't ask that out of curiosity. Please explain. Perhaps I can help."

The candy maker shook his head, his hair brushing his chin and neckwith the violence of the motion. _I must look a messy fright_, Willy thought to himself, seeking a distraction. He shook his head again and tried to huddle more deeply under the covers. The brilliance of his violet eyes dulled as he stared off into an unseen place, remembering. He sighed sadly and turned to find Mrs. Bucket was still anxiously and patiently watching him. "My mo-mo-mo…" He shook his head in frustration with himself. "Mom didn't want me."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sure that's not true, Willy." She frowned as he shook his head and looked down. "Sometimes, sometimes we have to do things that we don't want to do. Some have to give their children up for adoption, because they can't take care of them properly."

Willy shook his head again. "No, that isn't – wasn't it. I saw the letter. She said she never wanted to have me, never wanted to keep me and would never, ever want me." His shoulders slumped from ancient rejection. "I must have been really bad for my mo-mo-mo-mom to say that. Everybody says moms can forgive anything. So I was really especially bad. I must have been."

"Willy," Mrs. Bucket waited for him to look up. When he didn't, she reached out, slowly and gently, tolift his chin so their eyes could meet. "How old were you when your mom left?" She'd almost said mother, but having realized Willy couldn't bring himself to say it, thought it would be best if she didn't as well.

His brow furrowed as he searched for the answer. "Almost three," he paused to consider it, and then nodded. His treacherous memory brought up the letter she had left for his dad in clear and vivid detail. "Yeah, I was exactly four months from being three years old."

Mrs. Bucket sighed sadly. She would never understand. She couldn't, but she did know one thing. "Willy, it was **not** your fault. I don't know why she did that, but whatever it was; it was her problem, not yours." She patted his shoulder very gently, resisting the strong urge to hug him. She was lucky he'd tolerated the small touches she risked already. She didn't want to push him too much. "What did your father say?"

Willy shuddered at the question. He looked away. "Nothing, Dad never said anything about it one way or the other." He shrugged in dismissal.

Mrs. Bucket frowned at those words. What type of father didn't reassure their child in this type of situation? It was so easy for them to think it was their fault when it had nothing to do with them. She felt like finding him and shaking him hard to get answers to the questions Willy needed answered.

Willy glanced quickly at Mrs. Bucket before looking away again. "My dad never talked about her, Mom, I mean. I don't think I was supposed to have read that letter." There! He had been bad, wicked even. He'd done all those things he wasn't supposed to do. He'd read the letter and eaten chocolate and other candy. He'd written those notes on their taste and texture. No wonder his dad left after he found out his son wanted to **make** chocolate and candy! He'd done other bad things too, like reading storybooks when he was suppose to be reading science or math textbooks. He'd read his Great Uncle Wilton's journals about his explorations instead of the medical and dentistry journals. Heck, he'd read cookbooks instead of the dentistry journals! He'd read just enough of the textbooks and journals to pass his dad's quizzing, until he'd realized that the math and science helped him understand his other reading better and improved his analysis of candy. He'd even accepted and started to understand the medical journals, but he'd always hated the dentistry journals.

"Willy, I think you should talk to your father about your mother and that letter." Mrs. Bucket nodded firmly. "Yes, that would be a very good idea."

The chocolatier stared at her with shimmering eyes. _Talk to Dad? That was impossible!_ He couldn't. Even he couldn't manage that. "I can't."

"Yes, you can, Willy." Mrs. Bucket felt very strongly that this was the right course of action for the candy maker.

"He's dead," Willy blurted out. He slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. He'd finally said it aloud.

Oh dear, she'd forgotten about the burial service Charlie had seen Willy Wonka attend. It must have been his father's. Or maybe his father had died years ago and it was somebody else's. She felt an empathetic grief, remembering the recent passing of her own parents and in-laws. "I'm sorry, Willy."

"It's not your fault." His head tilted to one side, suddenly curious. Why was Mrs. Bucket sorry? She hadn't caused his dad to die. She didn't even know his dad. Probably. Most likely. In any case, she wasn't responsible. He supposed that he might be the responsible one. Since he hadn't been there for him… Of course, it was kind of hard to be there when you didn't know where **there** was. It had taken him the longest time to find out where his dad had moved the house to. He still didn't know how his dad had done it. He hadn't gotten enough courage to go visit and then suddenly, just a year after finally finding him, it was too late.Still if his dad had wanted to see him, well, the things he'd found said that he'd known where his son was. So he could have visited or written if he'd wanted or needed him. Yeah. He felt his head start to ache as he tried to figure out which of them was responsible for what. _It was probably me at fault. It usually was. _His dad made that abundantly clear when he'd still lived with him.

"No," Mrs. Bucket responded softly, "but I'm still sorry for your loss."

Willy shrugged, trying to push away the unaccustomed feelings of grief and the all too familiar feelings of guilt. "I hadn't seen him in years anyway." He rubbed his temples, trying to make the ache go away, not catching the horrified look that Harriet Bucket swiftly hid.

"Do you want some aspirin?" He was obviously very confused and had been hurt deeply by his parents, but especially by his mother. He probably didn't even know what she looked like. Given the contents of that letter, it would be a good thing if he didn't possess many memories of her. At that young of an age, he shouldn't have many, if any. If he did have any, they had to be bad ones. She shivered as she began to wonder how long he'd been allowed a childhood. How long had he been alienated from his father?

"Please, ma'am." Willy swallowed the two tablets she gave him and laid back down, his eyes closed. He didn't fall asleep though. His mind was too full of memories and feelings and thoughts. He wished he had taken the chance and gone to visit or at least **tried**. He wished… _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._

Seeing the little lines of pain around his eyes, Mrs. Bucket carefully laid a damp washcloth over his eyes, hoping it would help. She returned to her mending, her heart aching. She wondered how, with his experiences, Willy Wonka could bring so much joy to brighten the lives of so many children around the world. How did he manage to smile and laugh? Where did that child's glow come from that lit his unusual eyes? Beautiful eyes, beautiful smile. Any mother or father should have been proud of such a beautiful son…


	24. Chapter 23 Announcement, More Questions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

Chapter 23 – Announcement and More Questions **

Charlie was stunned when Willy announced, in a most matter of fact tone, during dinner that he should be well enough to return home the day after next. He stared at his plate, his appetite fled. He swallowed hard, trying to be glad that Willy was feeling better. He didn't want his new friend to leave. He wanted him to stay.

Mrs. Bucket frowned slightly as her son's fork stilled and was laid done beside his plate. She exchanged concerned glances with her husband. Their own utensils slowed as they tried to think of what to say.

The silence penetrated Willy Wonka's cheerful thoughts about returning home and new ideas for his candy inventions. Flicker chattered anxiously at him. He cautiously looked up, wondering what he had done wrong. The eyes he'd expected weren't on him however and he followed them to examine the boy who had become his first true friend outside of the factory. He carefully laid his fork down and slipped out of the warm bed to kneel on the floor and look up into a very sad face. "Charlie?" He started, only to sigh deeply. "I have to go home, Charlie. You know that, don't you?" His own face turned sad as he only received a silent nod in agreement. He searched his brain, trying to discover why Charlie was so very unhappy at his news. As kind as Charlie was, he had expected the boy to be glad. Why was he sad?

For the first time in years, Willy Wonka sought out his memories of his own youth. He had been a lonely child for the most part, frequently bullied, with more acquaintances than friends and none of them had been what anyone could call best friends by even the wildest stretch of imagination. They hadn't been confidants or there to play with and talk to on most days. He had just sort of been tacked on as more of an afterthought. A resource held available if there weren't enough kids or everyone else was busy. At least with the ones with kind hearts, the non-bullies, they'd tried to overlook his oddities and include him part of the time. He'd been grateful for the little friendships and kindnesses he had received and was careful to not look too closely at the various sets of best friends, to keep green-eyed jealousy away. He hadn't wanted to be bitter or turn cruel.

Later, after his dad left, he had been forbidden to go out to play and made to do practically all of the chores around the house he'd been sent to. Hope finally died hard and his small pleasures came from books and the cooking he'd done in the kitchen. He'd felt little thrills of joy when the other children had smiled at his candy treats. That was the closest he'd come to true friendship, but it was more as if he was an adult than another child. Even though he wasn't much older than the next oldest, he had looked after the other three, making sure they were clean and feed, got them up in time for school, helped with their homework, found quiet games for them to play so they wouldn't disturb their… His thoughts froze, a little voice in his mind screaming at him that he didn't want or need to go there. **Especially** in front of the Buckets! Obediently, he focused all of his attention back on Charlie. "We'll still be friends." He smiled a trifle uncertainly. "Right? You gave me my very first hug. That's special!"

Charlie swallowed and stared, his blue green eyes hopefully searching the bright iolite eyes looking up into his. "Really?"

"Truly!" Willy Wonka solemnly made an X mark over his heart and laid his palm over the spot. "Honestly and truly! Very best friends!" His smile widened a bit as he saw the corners of Charlie's mouth start to turn up. "I'm very grateful to have you as a friend, Charlie," he said with utmost sincerity.

"I'm glad we're friends, too! Best friends!" Charlie smiled as widely as he could, all the while thinking about Willy going back inside the chocolate factory. He would only get to see him when he came out for his walks. It wasn't enough, but it would have to **be** enough.

A thought struck Willy and he raised a finger. He hesitated, only to shrug his uncertainties away as the squirrel climbed on to his shoulder. "I have a thought." He looked around to address Charlie's mom and dad. "You have been most exceedingly kind to me, opening your home and taking care of me while I have been sick." He nodded his head firmly once. "I would like to do something for all of you." He tilted his head to one side. "I thought I could give you Thanksgiving dinner. It's the **least** I could do. Yeah."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged looks. They did the silent communication that couples who love each other and have been together for a long time all seemed to be able to do.

"On one condition," Mr. Bucket stated.

Willy lowered his finger and frowned slightly, as he examined the adults from the corner of his eyes. His eyelids slid half way shut, his mouth twisted to an O and one brow raised in question.

"That you join us," Mrs. Bucket told the chocolatier.

Charlie's whole face lit up and he grinned. He looked at Willy and waited, holding his breath hopefully.

Willy's brow furrowed in thought. Flicker squeaked softly. He puffed out a breath of air. "Okay. I guess I can do that." He shrugged ruefully. "I have so much work I've been missing, laying about and lollygagging around. One more day won't hurt."

Charlie let out the air he was holding in a gasp and smiled warmly at his friend. He was going to see him again! He was coming for Thanksgiving! He was pretty sure his parents didn't realize that Willy was their mysterious benefactor and if Willy himself wasn't going to say anything, he thought it best that he remained quiet as well. "Great!" He giggled gleefully, thinking about Thanksgiving.

"You know, Charlie, I could wait until Saturday and you could walk me home." That would be yet another day of work missed, but Willy thought he could manage it. That shouldn't hurt. Right? "We can walk around the park and maybe swing on the swings. Yeah!"

Charlie turned hopeful eyes on his parents. When they nodded agreement, he practically exploded with joy. "Sure!" He leaned forward to hug Willy and sighed happily as it was returned awkwardly. Flicker flicked his tail and jumped on to the bed, looking put out.

While Mrs. Bucket cleaned up after dinner, Mr. Bucket settled down to read his book. Willy appeared deep in thought before he turned his attention to Charlie who was gently stroking the squirrel. "If you have a checker or chess set, we could play a game." He smiled eagerly.

Charlie shook his head regretfully. "We don't have either one."

"Hmm," Willy tapped a finger beside his chin, thinking again. He suddenly brightened. "Do you have something checkerboardish?"

"Will this do?" Mrs. Bucket asked, showing the candy maker the red and white checked cloth from one of the baskets of food they had received.

"Perfect!" Willy chirped and grinned widely. "Charlie, bring my frock coat." He shifted to one side of the bed so there would be room for Charlie and counted the squares, folding the cloth into the right size for their checkerboard.

Obediently, the boy stood up and fetched the requested garment. He sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting. Willy rummaged around in various pockets, muttering to himself. "No, that's not it. How did that get in there?" He shook his head. "Huh? Oh, that's where that went to. I wondered. What's that? No. Hmm… Nope." After going through far more pockets than Charlie had ever thought could be in any coat, never mind Willy's smartly tailored one, the chocolatier finally pulled out a waxed paper bag. "Milk or dark?"

"Huh?" Charlie responded, puzzled by the question.

"Do you want to play milk chocolate or dark chocolate?" Willy explained, pulling out a handful of chocolate candies from the bag, each one topped by a perfect swirl. "You can eat the ones you jump. Yeah!" He giggled.

"I'd like to play dark then," Charlie answered. "I like milk chocolate."

"Fair enough! I love all chocolate," the candy maker grinned engagingly. He counted out the requisite number of game pieces for both of them and offered Mr. and Mrs. Bucket some to eat as well. He eyed the boy in speculation. "Rock, paper, scissors to decide who starts?"

Charlie nodded and they both put their closed right hands out. "One, two, three," he counted. His hand stayed a fist – rock.

Willy's hand was open. He smiled. "Paper! I start." He made his first move.

The pair of friends became wrapped up in their game. Willy, who by now had twice as many pieces to eat and twice as many pieces on the board, frowned thoughtfully. He began to coach Charlie in his moves so the boy started to catch up and the game became closer. Even with that, Willy still won by four checkers. They ate the remaining pieces happily. Willy offered a dark chocolate piece to Charlie to just try, but the boy shook his head. He was quite content with his Wonka milk chocolate.

It wasn't until after Charlie had gone to bed that he realized Willy Wonka was an excellent checker player for someone who lived alone. He peeked over the edge of his bed at the candy maker, wondering how he managed it. He remembered the computer games at school and guessed that was it. Willy probably had a very nice personal computer all his own. The boy yawned and stretched hugely. He lay down, his head resting on his flat pillow, blue eyes sliding shut as sleep claimed him.

**- W – C – F –**

Willy Wonka waited patiently, stroking Flicker, as he counted the time passing until he was almost absolutely positive Charlie was asleep. He let out a huge sigh.

"Willy?" Mrs. Bucket remembered the man's questions earlier in the day. She thought she could never forget and wondered what was wrong now.

"Mr. Bucket, I have a question," Willy began with dogged determination.

"Is it like," Mrs. Bucket hesitated, "what you asked me earlier?" She dreaded the thought, but felt relieved if Willy was including Mr. Bucket. At least then, she could discuss it with her husband with a clear conscience.

"Kind of," Willy acknowledged.

"What is it, Willy?" Mr. Bucket looked back and forth from his wife to their guest. He caught a troubled look on her face and frowned slightly.

"Would you ever leave Charlie?"

His brow puckered as he stared at the candy maker in confusion. "What do you mean, Willy? I can't imagine leaving Charlie."

"Not even if he, uh, like, defied you?" Willy pressed onward, determined to find some answers, even if he didn't particularly like them.

"Defied me? In what way?" Mr. Bucket was totally confused, but was trying to figure out what Willy was getting at. He could see the man was quite serious about his questions and wanted to answer him as honestly as possible.

"Like say you said he couldn't do something? Like a profession you hated, but he decided he was going to do it anyway? Like that. Yeah." Willy nodded firmly, thankful that he was explaining himself better than before with Mrs. Bucket. Of course, he understood the circumstances with his dad far better than his mom. He didn't really remember his mom or her leaving, totally the opposite from his dad.

"No, I might be disappointed, maybe even angry, but I couldn't abandon Charlie." Mr. Bucket exchanged unhappy looks with his wife. "Did," he took a deep breath, "your father…?" He started to ask as gently as he could, deeply worried.

Willy looked down at his hands. He frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought and remembered. "Yes," he finally admitted in a very hushed, heartrending voice. His dad leaving him had hurt far more than his mom. He didn't remember **her**, but Dad… He'd only been gone a few hours, three at most! Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them spill out. He had cried quite enough tears when he was younger; there wasn't any point now, especially since he could never talk to him again.

"Why?"

That single word, said with such gentle concern, pulled the reluctant answer from him. "Dad," Willy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Dad was a dentist." He looked at the Buckets with huge, sad lavender eyes. "He **hated **candy." He sighed. He didn't want to discuss it any more. The Buckets were too kind, Charlie was too good. They couldn't give him the answers he sought. "I think I'll go to sleep now." Willy quickly lay down, pulling the covers over his head, effectively ending the wretched conversation. He turned on his side, his back to the adults. At least, he hadn't let all the details slip out. It was bad enough Mrs. Bucket knew so much about his mom. He was certain she would tell Mr. Bucket and he couldn't deny her that right and comfort, but he didn't have to face their pity. He would never admit, even to himself, about the silent tears that leaked from his closed eyes.


	25. Chapter 24 Rain

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 24 – Rain**

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket crept as quietly as they could from their bedroom. They did not want to wake Willy up if he was sleeping. The Buckets had a feeling that the poor man had gotten little actual sleep after his disturbing revelations and questions, despite his early retirement to bed. As Mrs. Bucket moved toward the kitchen, she jumped back slightly with a small squeak of surprise.

"Dear?" Mr. Bucket followed her gaze and was startled to spot a dark shadow standing at the kitchen sink, one hand apparently resting on the glass windowpane. "Willy?"

"It's going to rain this afternoon and tonight," the chocolatier responded in a distracted tone.

Mr. Bucket turned on the small light. "That isn't in the forecast," he commented carefully, only to receive a half shrug in return. "It isn't going to," he paused a second, "ice up again, is it?"

Willy shook his head slowly and removed his hand from the glass. "No." He took his cane from where it was leaning against the sink and limped back to the bed. He was grateful that the Buckets hadn't questioned his declaration. He wasn't even sure why he had made it. Perhaps it had been a probably vain attempt to keep man and boy relatively dry and warm. "It'll be a cold rain, but not that cold." He just hoped they wouldn't return to his questions of the night before. Maybe that was why he'd done it, to distract them and him. He sat slowly on the edge of the bed and played with the head of his cane, rolling it back and forth in his hands. Willy found the simple action soothing. Flicker bounced over to his employer and chattered. "No, you may not go nut hunting in the rain." He distantly wondered why in the world the little squirrel wanted to get wet. It wasn't like he was hungry or was going to go hungry. He didn't have to gather nuts and store them for the winter. He half listened to another outburst of chatter, Flicker's tail living up to his name. "Oh yes. It will be quite windy."

Willy felt weird this morning, remote and only half there. He wondered why and what Edmund would think of it. He didn't recall feeling quite like this in the past. He'd been numb before, both when he'd found his home gone and for weeks after closing the factory. Following his dad running away and taking their home with him, he'd blindly obeyed the adults around him for a few days. It had worn off relatively quickly, much to the disgust of some of them. Not like when he'd closed the factory down. Then he had mutely roamed the great complex, mechanically cleaning and shutting down the equipment, sealing the delicate parts so they would last for a long time, years or decades if need be, without attention. Each elongated moment had slipped by, silent and sealed, without awareness of future or past. Thought had ultimately returned with painful slowness, burning and clawing at rigid, overly sensitized nerves. He stared blindly at the fireplace, his hands stilling. Eyelids slid shut as memory of an ancient agony flared. Stubbornly, he pushed it away, dragging himself back to his surroundings by a great effort of will.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged concerned looks about Willy. They felt they were doing that a lot since meeting the world famous candy maker. Perhaps they were making up for lost time when there was no one to really worry about him?

"Willy, dear, how do you know it's going to rain?" Mrs. Bucket asked, partly from curiosity and partly to get him to talk, as she set about fixing breakfast.

_Okay, so they do have questions. Now how to answer without lying? If you have to lie, it is best to do so by telling the truth. I can't very well say the Oompa-Loompas taught me, now can I? Or can I? _The Oompa-Loompas had noticed something odd about Willy's reactions to the weather. Fascinated, their weather prognosticators had immediately decided to teach him all they knew. Since then, he'd become their most reliable source of information. "While I was on my candy expeditions in the remoter regions of the world, I frequently stayed with the locals. Some of them taught me what they knew about predicting the weather." _And every word is absolutely true. The fact that the tribe is living in the factory is totally moot and beside the point._

"Really?" Mr. Bucket looked at their guest, his eyes gleaming with interest and curiosity. "I suppose since they live closer to the land, they were very good at it."

"Oh yes, quite good and much more accurate than those meteorologist people," Willy nodded. He didn't add, perhaps hadn't realized, that he was even more accurate than his teachers.

"In that case, I'll have to find some umbrellas," Mr. Bucket responded. He went to rummage in the closet, looking for the best of the ones he'd found in the trash and repaired.

Willy retained his distracted air long after Mr. Bucket had left for work. The smile he gave Charlie when he came down for breakfast was unfocused. It was only when the boy tested the umbrella his father had found for him, that his iolite eyes sharpened and became attentive once more to his surroundings. Willy shook his head as it half collapsed. "Charlie, fetch my great coat." Obedient as ever, Charlie went to find the long black coat and brought it over to its owner. The chocolatier checked his pockets, finally pulling out a tiny, compact umbrella. "Here, you can use this one, Charlie. Yeah."

Tentatively, Charlie shook out the little umbrella and pushed the button to open it. It spread with a silent swoosh. He stood blinking at the huge umbrella he was now holding. He had thought when Willy gave it to him that it was black. He now saw the panels alternated between brilliant purple and plum red, small strips of black separating the colors. The inside was a bright sky blue with a beautiful rainbow arching around the edge. "I'll fly away," he protested because it was the largest one he had ever held.

"Don't be silly, my dear boy, only Mary Poppins flies with an umbrella."

Charlie looked uncertainly at his friend and examined the umbrella again. "How do I close it?"

"Push the button again."

Charlie did just that, only to jump in surprise as it folded itself neatly back into a compact bundle with another silent swoosh. "I… I shouldn't. It's much too fine. I might damage it." He tried to give it back to Willy.

"Bah, it's an umbrella, Charlie, nothing less and certainly nothing more. Umbrellas get broken all the time, through no fault of their owners. They are meant to be used, to keep people dry, or to try to, anyway. Take it, use it, Charlie." He pushed the boy's hands and the umbrella away.

"Mom?" Charlie turned questioning blue gray eyes to his mother.

Mrs. Bucket blinked, wondering how she became an arbitrator over an umbrella of all things. "I think Willy is right, dear. You take it with you and use it if it rains."

A pleased little smile curled the corners of Willy's lips, happy Mrs. Bucket agreed with him. A bonus was the little exchange had helped him shake off the weird remote feeling, bringing him more fully into the here and now. And so Charlie Bucket went to school with the umbrella safely tucked into his old satchel.

**-W – C – F –**

Rain was pouring down in buckets by the time the school day ended. Charlie found himself incredibly grateful for the large umbrella as the wind gusted so strongly that even old, packed wet leaves blew everywhere. At first, he had been afraid the umbrella would turn inside out in the powerful storm, until he found it was cleverly designed to allow the wind to escape while still keeping its user safely dry. He hurried home as fast as he could, splashing through puddles and rivulets where there was normally no water at all. He pushed his way inside the door of their small home, fighting to keep it from being blown out of his hands and to keep the umbrella from rushing away. His mother hurried over to help pull the door shut and they both breathed deep sighs of relief when it was safely closed.

Charlie looked around eagerly and suddenly frowned in puzzled concern. Flicker was curled up asleep on Willy's pillow, but there was no sign of the chocolatier himself. "Where's Willy?"

His mother shrugged and pointed up toward his room. "Up there. He said something about a different perspective."

The boy hastily set the wet umbrella in an out of the way corner to dry and pulled off his coat and hat and hung them up. Grabbing his book satchel, he scrambled up the ladder and found Willy sitting on his bed, his elbows resting on the windowsill, his chin in his hands. "Hi!"

"Normally, when it's stormy, I'm looking down and watching the town. It's the first time I've watched the factory."

_Oookay, weird greeting_, Charlie thought to himself. Before he could think of anything to say in response, the candy maker turned to him with a big grin.

"Hi Charlie! How was school today?"

"Okay," Charlie answered, smothering a laugh at how chirpy Willy had suddenly sounded, compared to just before when he'd seemed so distant and distracted.

"You didn't get wet, now did you? Uh huh." Willy continued. "That is a really good umbrella. It does a great job. Yeah!"

"You're right," Charlie acknowledged. "It did a great job. I hardly got wet and I didn't blow away."

"I told you, silly." His attention returned to the downpour outside. He struggled to see his beloved factory. "You better get your homework done, before the power goes out. Yep."

Charlie pulled out his notebook and textbooks and started working on his assignments. Every once in a while he would look up to watch Willy watching the storm outside. It was warm and cozy inside, thanks to the renovations. The boy raced to finish his homework, positive the chocolatier was right and the power would go out soon. Sure enough, before he was finished, the power went off and on a couple of times and then died. "I got most of it done," Charlie stated, feeling put out. His teachers wouldn't care that the power was out and he couldn't see. Oh no! He was supposed to be able to complete everything regardless of the circumstances.

Willy silently reached down and picked up his cane. He rapped it hard two times and it began to glow just as it had on the day of the ice storm. Soon the light was bright enough for Charlie to see again. He bent his head gratefully over his books, determined to finish his assignments so he and Willy could enjoy each other's company before his friend had to return home.

**-W – C – F –**

Mr. Bucket stumbled inside, feeling more than a little damp around the edges. He still managed to greet everyone with a cheerful, "Evening Buckets! Evening Willy!" He was thankful that the power outages were more localized this time. It made crossing the streets much safer. He looked around and wondered where Charlie and Willy were.

A happy "Hi Dad!" immediately informed him of his son's whereabouts.

He looked at his wife. "Where's Willy, Mrs. Bucket?" He was sure the candy maker was still there somewhere. By all of his father's accounts, he was a man who stood by his word. If he said he would wait until Saturday to return home, then Saturday it would be.

"Hi Mr. Bucket!"

The merry, high pitched call from his son's bedroom made him jump slightly. He shot a surprised look up and spotted a bright glow of light. He looked at Mrs. Bucket. "How in the world did he make it up there?" He paused as he accepted the plates from his wife. "And why?"

Mrs. Bucket shrugged. "Something about a different perspective and I'm not sure how he managed that climb with his leg. I only turned my back for a moment." She blew a stray strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. She shared a rueful smile with her husband before he turned to set the table. Willy was obviously feeling much better.


	26. Chapter 25 Broken Promise

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone. 

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n_. 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o_. from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl: xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 25 – Broken Promise**

After finishing his homework, Charlie dug out the white gobstopper that Willy had sent to him with his note. "What is it really? Is it a new candy?" He gently rolled the white marble like object in his fingers.

"It's one of my newest candies. I made the everlasting gobstopper for children with very little pocket money." Willy smiled at the boy. "It will never get any smaller and will never lose its flavor."

"That's great," Charlie grinned and licked it once, "and it tastes delicious!"

"I'm not quite ready to release them yet, but that batch was particularly good." Willy nodded firmly with a pleased air.

"Hmm… You know what would be amazing and magical?"

"What Charlie?" Willy was staring out at the storm again.

"If it changed flavors," the boy nodded at the look he received from the candy maker. "There could be some with one flavor for children who love just one particular flavor over all the others and then some could change through a particular set of flavors for children who like different ones AND another type would be where the children wouldn't know what flavors they might get. That would be for the adventurous ones who like to try new things." Charlie nodded again. "That would be magic!"

"That's a brilliant idea, Charlie!" Willy grinned in excitement. "May I use it?"

Charlie blinked a bit in surprise. Willy could actually do that! "Of course!"

Willy deflated slightly. "Oh, but I don't have my candy idea notepad with me." He knew he would probably forget if he didn't write it down. Usually he only remembered if he started on an idea right away (Impossible since he wasn't in the factory.) or if he wrote it down in his candy idea notepad.

Charlie looked up at his friend. He reached for his notebook and carefully pulled a sheet out. "Here, you can use this."

Willy accepted the piece of paper and pencil from Charlie with a big smile. He wrote down "Charlie's ideas" at the top of the page, followed by the suggestions for the everlasting gobstopper. They were wonderful ideas and he could already think of all sorts of combinations for the gobstoppers. "Thank you Charlie." He handed the pencil back to his friend. "Don't let me forget that paper. It is most important!"

Charlie nodded agreeably as he sat beside Willy to look outside. He loved watching the factory, but watching the chocolate factory with its owner sitting beside him was a novel and wondrous experience. "What other candies are you working on?"

"Hmm?" Willy looked distracted for a moment. "Oh! Candy snow! I just started it when we had that ice storm. I thought I'd make it for children who live where there isn't any snow. But then I thought what if I made it in the summer for when there isn't any snow except way up in the mountains? What do you think, Charlie? Would candy snow be good for winter for places where they don't get snow? Or for summer when there isn't any snow?"

"Candy snow?"

"Yeah! There'd be candy noses and buttons and scarves and things for making candy snowmen and snowwomen and snowpets and if they wanted the kids could have candy snowball fights. Yeah!"

Charlie giggled. "That's a great idea, Willy! It sounds like fun." He smiled widely, even though he had never had a snowball fight or built a snowman, except for once when he had made a teeny tiny snowman just to see what it felt like. There wasn't a lot of time for doing things like that, plus it was just too cold in his old worn jacket and gloves. The closest he had come to a snowball fight was being pelted with snow by bullies. He expected that didn't really count because snowball fights were done with friends.

"So winter or summer? What do you think?"

"Why not both?"

"Both?"

"Well, people like ice cream all year round, right?"

"Oh yeah, we always sell lots of ice cream."

"Couldn't it be the same way with candy snow?"

"Both… Yeah, both!" Willy grinned at Charlie and nudged his shoulder. "You're just full of good ideas, aren't cha?" He giggled when Charlie blushed, which set Charlie to giggling as well.

"Boys! Dinner's ready!" Mrs. Bucket called up to the pair.

Charlie blinked and looked at his ladder. "How are you going to get down?" For that matter, how had Willy gotten up here?

"You go on," Willy prodded Charlie forward. "I'll be right behind you."

Obediently, Charlie slid down the ladder by bracing his feet on the sides and scrambled down from the cabinet the rest of the way. He turned to look up at the attic. "Willy?"

Willy looked over the side and waved to Charlie. "Move back a little bit."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket went to stand anxiously behind their son. Both of them wondered how Willy was going to get down. They hoped he didn't hurt himself.

Willy turned around and stepped backwards off of the 'floor' of the attic. His right hand was firmly holding on to his cane. His left hand caught hold of one of the wood beams. He swung by one arm for a moment, waiting for his momentum to slow and then let go. His left foot and the cane landed first, taking most of his weight. His right leg came down a second later, helping him to regain his balance. He looked up and grinned at the Buckets, feeling a bit sheepish. He hadn't really considered coming down when he had decided to go up. He hoped they didn't guess that or get mad at him.

"Charlie?" Mr. Bucket said quietly when his heart started again.

"Yes sir?"

"Don't ever think about doing that."

"Yes sir." Charlie wondered how Mr. Wonka had managed to do it. It must have taken practice, but why would a candy maker practice something like** that**? "What if there's a fire?"

Mr. Bucket took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He exchanged looks with his wife.

"All right, if there's a fire or some other emergency and no other way," Mrs. Bucket stated firmly.

Charlie nodded.

"Absolutely no other way!"

"Yes ma'am."

Willy flushed and looked down. He quietly followed the Buckets to the table.

**- W – C – F –**

Dinner finished, Willy turned toward the bed in the middle of the room. He frowned slightly. Something was missing. "Where's Flicker?"

"He was sleeping on your pillow, dear," Mrs. Bucket answered absently as she carried the dishes to the sink.

"Flicker?" Willy looked around the room. He peeked into his hat and checked under the bed. He suddenly felt his stomach drop.

"I'll help you look," Charlie offered. The pair searched the room, looking for the little squirrel. Willy kept calling Flicker's name and then started to make odd squeaking and chattering noises, sounding remarkably like a real squirrel. Mr. Bucket helped by checking their bedroom for him. Charlie scrambled up to make sure he wasn't in his room. No one could find any trace of their furry visitor.

Willy sat slowly on the edge of his bed. He looked down at the floor and sighed sadly. "Charlie." He looked at his young friend with a very worried expression. "I think he must have left." He remembered how the squirrel had wanted to go look for nuts and how he had wanted to know if it was going to be windy. Wind would mean a lot of nuts would have been knocked down from the trees. Easy pickings for squirrels and those squirrels might be easy pickings for the things that hunted them. He shivered and hugged himself tightly. He didn't want anything to be hunting Flicker.

Charlie sat down beside his friend. He knew Willy was worried about his strange employee. He was worried as well. "The park. I'll help you look." He looked up into anxious lavender eyes. He knew Willy was well enough to walk that far. He hadn't gone home because Charlie had wanted him to stay.

"We'll all help," Mr. Bucket stated as he reached for his coat. He helped Mrs. Bucket put her coat on.

Willy nodded slowly. "Okay." He looked at the little family before limping into the bathroom to change into his clothes. He came out pulling on his frock coat. "Thank you."

**- W – C – F – **

The Buckets and Willy cautiously made their way up the hill. It was dark outside and the rain was still falling steadily, though not as heavily as before. Fortunately, the wind had died down considerably. Charlie walked beside his friend, carefully stretched to hold Willy's umbrella way up so it was over both their heads. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket walked huddled close together under Mr. Bucket's umbrella.

"We'll find him," Charlie stated firmly.

"I hope so," Willy responded softly. Both of them knew that they might not. He shyly slipped his purple gloved hand around Charlie's free hand. He squeezed the smaller hand slightly, unsure if he was offering comfort or seeking it.

They walked around the park, paying close attention to the trees that had nuts. The Buckets saw several squirrels, but most of them scampered away to hide from the humans.

"Flicker?" Willy called anxiously, occasionally making a chattering noise. He examined each squirrel he spotted with concerned eyes, only to realize they weren't his errant employee. He stood on the walking path and sighed deeply and sadly. Charlie leaned against him slightly, wishing there was something he could do to make Willy feel better and knowing he couldn't. "Flicker?" Willy asked in a worried whisper, no longer calling for him. He bowed his head and his eyes shut.

A sudden chatter made Willy jerk his head up. The little squirrel scurried up to his tall employer in his top hat and chattered and squeaked at him, his tail flicked back and forth wildly.

"Where?" Willy asked with his voice full of alarm. He ran, limping slightly, after the squirrel, leaving Charlie and the Buckets to trail behind him. One hand held his top hat in place as he hurried. He went to his knees, the rain and wet ground ignored, where the squirrel had gone under a boxwood hedge. He bent forward, trying to see and impatiently rapped his cane to light it. He set his hat aside and then stretched and squirmed his way inside. "Ah, you poor thing." He wiggled back out and brought his hand up, holding something small, cuddling it close to his chest.

Charlie and his parents gathered around the candy maker, looking anxiously to see what he held. Flicker climbed up to Willy's shoulder and chattered at the man.

"Of course, I'll help," Willy paused to examine the minute bundle of dark, wet fur, "her." Tenderly held in his hand was a tiny kitten, its eyes only just open, still milky and blind. "What happened to your momma? We need to get you warm and dry and fed, right away!" All of her littermates were already dead.

Charlie stared at the kitten. "You can give her all that at the factory. Can't you?"

Willy stiffened and then looked timidly at Charlie. "I promised."

"The factory's closer. A life is more important than a promise." Charlie looked into Willy's iolite eyes, his blue green eyes shining with wisdom and warmth. "Go home, Willy."

Hesitantly Willy stood and took a step toward his beloved chocolate factory. Violet eyes shimmered in the light from his cane. "We can still walk Saturday. We can swing on the swings," he offered tentatively.

Charlie glanced at his parents and then nodded in agreement. "We'll do that. Now go home, Willy."

"'Kay," Willy nodded once and then turned toward home. He started walking, slowly at first, gaining speed until he moved briskly up the hill. He didn't look back.

Mrs. Bucket squeezed Charlie's slender shoulders. The boy shrugged slightly and looked down.

"He forgot his hat!" Charlie bent to pick it up carefully, still holding Willy's umbrella.

"You can give it back to him on Saturday, Charlie," his father responded. "Now let's go home."


	27. Chapter 26 Home Again

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**

* * *

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**Chapter 26 – Home Again**

The very instant the door to the factory was closed Luke was at Willy's side. He shook his head at his employer's wet clothes and gestured. Immediately a swarm of Oompa-Loompas was helping Willy to remove his coats. Dr. Luke eyed the hand Willy was keeping close to his chest in curiosity, but realized it would be best not to approach anything with him directly at the moment. Willy frequently showed a tendency to avoid responding to direct questions. An oblique advance worked best when he was in that mood. This seemed to be one of those times, so Luke started with a question he thought Willy **would **answer. "Where's your hat?"

"Hat?" Willy reached up with his free hand and felt the air above his head. His face went blank. "I must have left it in the park." He turned to go back outside much to the Oompa-Loompa's consternation.

"Willy!" Luke allowed fond exasperation to fill his tone. As soon as the man turned to look at him, he continued. "You're wet and you've been sick. **We** will fetch your hat." He gestured to the other Oompa-Loompas. "I'm sure Flicker can show us where it is. **You** need to get dried off and warmed up immediately!"

Willy froze at those words, surprise filling his expressive face. He looked down at what he was holding. "Oh! No, no, that can wait! We need to get this kitten dried off and warmed up and fed immediately or even sooner. Yeah!" Willy nodded emphatically as he bent over to show the tiny animal to Dr. Luke. "I don't know what happened to her momma, but the others were…" He trailed off, not wanting to say it in front of the kitten. Bemused, Dr. Luke accepted the wet kitten from Willy. It mewled weakly and squirmed in his hands. He supposed they could take care of it, the same way they did the baby squirrels when their mothers were sick and none of the others were available to look after them. A group of Oompa-Loompas in yellow factory overalls appeared and extracted the kitten and Flicker from the crowd in the hallway. They split up and left the doctor to focus on his patient – his stubborn, prickly, peculiar and particular patient.

Willy remained bent over, his eyes blinking for a moment as he thought. "I think Charlie must have my hat now." He tilted his head as he turned the idea over. "Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah. He and Mr. Bucket and Mrs. Bucket were helping me look for Flicker in the park." He nodded again. "And they followed when Flicker led me to the kitten. That's where I left my hat. I'm positively positive sure of it!" He nodded. "So Charlie will have my hat. Yeah." His head tilted to the other side and his eyes narrowed slightly. "I can get it back Saturday." He nodded firmly.

"Saturday? Why Saturday?" Dr. Luke asked as he tugged on Willy's pants to get him moving toward his quarters.

"I'm supposed to meet Charlie in the park on Saturday. We're going to walk around the park and go swinging. Yeah, swing on the swings." Willy rubbed his face and pushed his wet hair back. "I promised! I promised I'd stay 'til Saturday, but then Flicker disappeared and they helped me look for him and we found the kitten." He stopped and bent over again so he could face Dr. Luke. "Charlie said, he said a life was more important than a promise! He told me to go home." He looked very troubled that he'd broken his promise to the boy.

Dr. Luke caught one of Willy's index fingers in his hands. He knew how much it would bother their employer and friend to break a promise. Coompa-Ka placed great value on the promises he made. He would be extremely disturbed at breaking one for any reason. "Charlie is a wise little boy," Luke gently patted Willy's hand, trying to reassure him, "a very wise boy. A life is more important, Willy."

Willy looked unconvinced. He had broken his promise. Maybe the Oompa-Loompas wouldn't trust him any more. He had promised to take care of them, but now that he had broken his promise to Charlie, maybe they would think he wouldn't do that.

Another Oompa-Loompa stepped forward. He was dressed in a white factory jumpsuit. He gestured to get Willy's attention. "Pataki, heed my words! You did not break your promise to the boy." He gestured fluidly and firmly. "You were released from your promise for a noble reason, to save a life. I have spoken." He crossed his arms, his hands curled at his shoulders and bowed to the candy maker.

Willy Wonka scratched his head as he pondered Richard's words. "Are you sure?" he asked the chief, still upset that he'd broken his word. "Are you really, really sure?"

Luke released Willy's finger as Richard reached for his hand and took the finger in his own hand. "I am sure. Now, let Lioo-ka, Luke, take care of you, dear heart."

"Okay, but I feel much better." Willy straightened as the Oompa-Loompa released him. He looked down at Dr. Luke as he followed him to his office and quarters. "I didn't know I could have a relapse, but it felt just like when that whangdoodle stung me, only it wasn't as bad. Did you know that? It was weird!" The candy maker nodded unaware of their horrified reaction to his words. "Charlie found me and he took me home. They took really good care of me and I thought and thought, because I knew you would be worried and I needed to let you know I was okay. Then I thought about the drum code and my cane and I thought I could do the code only with light instead of sound. Yeah and it worked, because you got my message and wouldn't be all worried about me when I didn't come home. Because I didn't want to worry you and I'm really sorry if I did." He thought of something else and looked at Richard. "I told them who I am. I found out that Charlie's Grandpa Joe used to work for me and I felt really bad because I fired him along with all my other workers, my human workers. I thought they would hate me because of that and I tried to leave, but they wouldn't let me and they said they didn't hate me. They were really nice to me!"

Richard, Edmund and Dr. Luke had tried many times to make Willy understand that closing the factory and firing his workers wasn't his fault. It could be extremely hard to get through Willy's old thought and behavior patterns. It hadn't helped that the long time he spent alone with nothing and no one to really distract him had engraved the belief that it was his fault into him. "Do you understand why they don't hate you, Willy?"

Willy nodded. "Yeah, they're good people."

The Oompa-Loompa chief shared a look with the healer. "Yes, Willy, the Buckets are very nice and good, but that's not what I mean. They don't hate you because it wasn't your fault."

"Yeah it was. I should have been smarter. I should have been able to stop those nasty spies and kept my factory open. I realized something though. If I hadn't closed my factory, I never would have found you guys and I'm really glad I found you and brought you here." He saw that a small play pen had already been set up in one corner of his office, away from the boxes from his dad's house, for the kitten to stay in along with a litter box for her to use once she learned how. There was a little house for her to hide in if she got scared or was tired and wanted to sleep. He nodded at the Oompa-Loompas who were drying the kitten while one fed her from a small bottle. Willy smiled and bowed to them, thanking them for taking care of the factory's newest resident. He turned and pushed open the hidden door to his living quarters. Willy stepped up on the wooden step and sank down to sit on his high bed, his face serious and solemn. "I could have stayed open longer," he admitted to the two Oompa-Loompas. "I still had money to run the factory, but…"

"But what?" Richard climbed the ladder that was there for the workers to reach their employer's bed. He sat beside Willy and waited patiently.

"If I had waited too long, they would have taken the factory," Willy looked troubled, "when I couldn't pay the taxes on it. So I closed it while I still had enough money to keep it." He hung his head, his face flushed with shame. "That was selfish."

Richard considered Willy's admission and his own words very carefully. "Willy, maybe it was a **little** selfish, but the factory was yours. You built it and it was your home. You would have felt very bad and angry if one of the other candy makers had gotten it, especially if it had been one who had taken your secret recipes, and rightfully so. You worked very hard to make this factory and business a success. I think you were entitled to do what was necessary to keep it from your rivals' hands." He patted Willy's arm gently. "You had already lost one home. That's enough for one lifetime."

Willy shook his head slightly, a puzzled look furrowing his brow. He wanted to believe Richard, but he wasn't sure. The thoughts turned over and over in his head until it felt full of nothing else. He started when Richard tugged his sleeve.

Dr. Luke frowned at his patient. "Get out of those wet things right now, Willy, and put on your pajamas. I want to make sure you're recovering all right.

With a sigh, Willy slid off his bed and limped to the bathroom. He quickly stripped and rubbed a towel over his damp hair. He paused and considered taking a shower. He didn't want to make Dr. Luke wait too long, but it would sure feel good. Deciding he could take a quick one, he pushed the gold button that set it for ten minutes at the exact temperature he liked best and got inside. He scrubbed himself quickly so he would have time to shampoo his hair as well. He finished just as the water cut off. Willy stepped out, toweled dry and dressed in a clean pair of purple silk pajamas. He pulled on his brocaded robe and slid on his velvet embroidered slippers before he returned to his bedroom, brushing his hair. Richard had left so Willy could have his privacy during the exam. He dragged one foot slightly over the plush silk and wool rug at the foot of his bed. It was extremely colorful, patterned after a peacock's tail in full spread. "I have a lot of work to catch up on."

That was easy enough to translate – Willy Wonka didn't want to go to bed. "Your work can wait until tomorrow." Dr. Luke told him gently and patted the bed, encouraging the chocolatier to climb back up on it. The plush duvet blocked in chocolate, plum and purple velvet had been turned back to reveal the soft cocoa colored organic cotton sheets.

Reluctantly, the chocolatier climbed up and sat, sinking into the soft mattress. His hands played with the fringe on his robe's belt. He finally stopped fidgeting enough for Dr. Luke to check his pulse, blood pressure and temperature. He answered dozens of questions about how he had felt and what he had done prior to getting sick, during and afterwards. His brow furrowed as he struggled to remember everything he'd eaten and list them off for his physician. Dr. Luke took copious notes before closing his notepad. "How do you feel now?"

"All right I guess." Willy pushed his hair behind his ear. "My leg still hurts a bit, but not like before."

"Is it all right if I discuss this with Edmund?"

Willy chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "I guess so. I was going to talk to him about how I felt this morning. You know that feeling like I wasn't all there? So yeah, you can talk to him if you want. I guess I'll have to find time to talk to him myself." He sighed heavily, feeling put out. He really did have a lot of things to catch up on. Sessions with Edmund were just one more thing to steal his time away from his candy making. That thought made Willy scratch his head as he tried to remember. Charlie had said something. It had been about the everlasting gobstopper he'd given him. No, it had been about making them better; at least he thought it was about improving them. Something about the flavor? Gosh darn his lousy memory! Flavors! That was it!

The chocolatier opened the hidden panel in the curved headboard of his bed and pulled out his candy idea notepad. He chewed on his cherry flavored pen as he tried to remember everything the boy had said. "Charlie had some great ideas for the everlasting gobstoppers! Yeah!" He scribbled what he could remember about putting different flavors into one gobstopper. He listed some of the combinations he had thought up while they were talking about it.

Luke smiled at Willy's enthusiasm. It was good to see, but it was also the wrong time of day for it. He tried to look stern as he spoke. "I don't want to hear you spent the night in the Inventing Room, Willy." The candy maker shot a look at Dr. Luke, his pen pausing. "Write down your ideas, but wait until after you've had a good night's sleep to implement them."

"Spoilsport," Willy muttered softly under his breath, put out yet again. Still, he had agreed that when he was sick he would listen to Dr. Luke. Of course, he wasn't really sick any more, maybe just a little bit, maybe... He examined his physician from the corner of one eye as he scribbled a couple of more thoughts down. The look of genuine concern and affection he received tipped the balance. "All right, Dr. Luke."

"Are you going to bed now or stay up a while longer?"

"Stay up." Willy pulled off his robe and dragged his legs up on to the bed. He put his notepad and pen back into their spot and pulled out the book he'd been reading. "I'll just read a little while." He nodded.

"Do you want a nightcap?"

"Huh? Oh no, that's okay. I can get something myself." Willy shook his head.

Dr. Luke climbed down and bowed to his boss before turning to leave. He was at the door to Willy's bedroom, when Willy stopped him.

"Were you… waiting for me? The whole time?" Willy asked shyly as he remembered how Dr. Luke had so quickly been at his side when he'd returned.

The little Oompa-Loompa smiled warmly. "If I wasn't there, Edmund was."

"Thank you and thank Edmund, Dr. Luke." Willy Wonka ducked his head. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"Willy, friends worry about each other. We care about you very much and would gladly do that and more for you." He smiled gently at the larger human. "You worry about us all the time. You go out of your way to make us happy and to make our life better. Don't deny it. Well, we worry about you too. We want to do the same things for you."

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't worry about me. You shouldn't…"

"Yes, we should," Dr. Luke interrupted. "We care about each other and you are our friend, perhaps our greatest friend, dear heart. Now, stop arguing with me and be sure to get a good night's sleep. I have some research to do."

"Yes, Doctor Luke," Willy responded meekly enough. After his physician left, he turned his attention to the book in his hands. Normally he read non-fiction, but every once in a while, he picked up a novel. The Oompa-Loompas had made a list entitled 'Recommended Reading for Willy'. When he was in the mood for something different, he would pick up the next one on the list. They also had a list of 'Recommended Viewing for Willy', but he seldom actually watched any of them. Occasionally though he would jump around on that list if there was a suggestion that coincided with books he particularly liked. Right now he was reading "The Princess Bride" because the Oompa-Loompas really wanted him to watch the movie. He felt it was best for him to read the novel first and he had to admit that he was enjoying it, particularly the friendships developing between the various characters. Friends were important. Never having had a real friend until he found the Oompa-Loompas, he had felt a poignant longing. He smiled as he finished the chapter and carefully positioned his bookmark, thinking of Charlie. Now he had a new friend, a best friend and he thought that could only enhance his reading and his life.

Willy slid off his bed, slipped his feet into his slippers and wandered into his kitchen for his nightcap. He carefully fixed a little cup of a caffeine-free hot chocolate drink he had invented. It was richer and thicker than normal hot cocoa. He took a sip, almost humming in pleasure.

The candy maker thought he should check on how the kitten was doing before he went to sleep. Not bothering with his robe, he stuck his head into his office. He waved hello to the pair of Oompa-Loompas now looking after the kitten. He started to gesture a question, but was frustrated by the small cup in his hand. Frowning slightly, he set it down on a small round table and walked over to the playpen. He gestured smoothly, asking how the kitten was doing and if they needed any information on how to care for her. The pair shook their heads and showed their boss the instructions that had been printed out for them. Willy accepted the paper which was the same width as used in most adding machines. He scanned down it and was pleased to see that it included detailed instructions on feeding and looking after an extremely young orphaned kitten. It even had directions on what to do if she got sick. With a grateful smile, he handed the sheet back to her caretakers and sat down on a tapestry covered footstool that had been positioned nearby.

One of the Oompa-Loompas, Theodore, held up the tiny kitten to Willy. He accepted her with a warm smile, cuddling her close and stroking her gently. He noticed that the milky coating was gone, leaving her eyes blue. No longer soaked, he could see her fur was different shades of brown in stripes and spots, resembling a miniature tiger with two creamy front paws and a creamy breast. As the chocolatier held her up to his cheek, he felt a warmth flow from his gloved hands into the small body. His mind absently interpreted it as green, very similar to the green he used when starting new candy plants. He rubbed his cheek against her soft fur. A look of wonder appeared on his face as he heard a nearly subsonic purr come from her throat.

Theodore gestured to Willy, asking him if he had a name for her yet.

Willy shook his head slightly. With obvious reluctance, he gave the kitten back to him. "Let's wait until we know what color her eyes are."

Leif, the second Oompa-Loompa, responded that they were blue.

"No. Maybe. Most kittens have blue eyes. They change color later. Let's wait and see."

Leif crossed his arms and bowed to Willy, accepting the knowledge. The Oompa-Loompas were highly curious about what Willy Wonka was going to name the little kitten, but if he said wait, then wait they would. Willy named everything in the factory from names for the various candy plants to the Oompa-Loompas' English names to all the squirrels and other animals living inside the complex. They thought he was extremely clever at determining what was most appropriate. Many Oompa-Loompa parents sometimes wondered how he could do it. Willy made it seem so easy!

"Good night. Please wake me if there are any problems," Willy instructed them. "Inform whoever takes over next as well." He stood, crossed his arms and bowed. The Oompa-Loompas bowed and then pointed to his forgotten mug. Willy picked it up with a mildly flustered look. He took a sip of the chocolate as he stepped into his bedroom and pushed the door closed behind him.

Willy Wonka climbed the step to his bed and sat there, just absorbing the relief of being home again. He finished his drink and set the cup on his night stand. He returned to his spacious bathroom to prepare for sleep. Finished, he removed his gloves and discarded them through a small opening in the wall beside the sink to be recycled. He washed his hands (carefully not looking as always) and dried them off on the hand towel. He brushed his teeth.  
Willy then positioned his hands with his fingers widespread in another opening and waited. A violet glow flared for a few seconds. When he removed his hands, he was wearing a fresh pair of purple gloves.

The chocolatier covered his mouth as he yawned upon his return to his bed and reached for a chocolate brown button on the wall next to it. Pushing the knob, a soft roar filled his bedroom along with the aroma of melted chocolate. He blinked sleepily as he stretched out on his bed, pulling the covers tightly up around himself. His eyes slid shut and his breathing slowed to a soft susurration. Willy's mind soon filled with dreams of Charlie, Flicker, Rosemary, the kitten and him swinging on a candy cane gym set near a chocolate river surrounded by very green grass and colorful flowers, trees and bushes.


	28. Chapter 27 Fair Days Unexpected Outburst

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** – _n. _1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o. _from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter _+ atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

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**Chapter 27 – Fair Days, Unexpected Outburst **

Friday dawned crisp and clear. The sky was bluer than blue with not a single cloud to be seen. Charlie Bucket went to school and actually managed to pay attention to most of his teachers. His mind only occasionally drifted to the large complex on the hill and its inhabitants. Was the kitten doing all right? He hoped so as he thought the chocolatier would be even more crushed than he if something happened to her now. After the last bell, the boy hurried to the park, wondering if Willy would take his afternoon walk that day. He would be the first to admit that he would not be surprised if he didn't. After all, the candy maker had been absent from his home and business for several days. He probably had a lot of work to catch up on as well as the little kitten to tend.

Charlie had not dared to bring Willy's hat with him. He would never have been able to explain it at school and feared that one of the bullies would steal it from him or damage it. He couldn't risk letting anything happening to the hat. He smiled when he saw the swings. _Tomorrow_, he promised them. _There will be no bullies to push me off and I will be with my friend, my very best friend! _The thought felt good and warmed him up all the way inside. He giggled happily. Having an adult for a best friend made it so easy to thwart bullies! Just as on the day they had met, bullies would take one look at Mr. Willy Wonka and go another way. But even if Willy's presence did not keep bullies at bay, he would still be his best friend and quite probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. The boy almost hummed with happiness as he skipped up the hill to the chocolate factory. He stood with his eyes closed, inhaling the delicious aromas that flowed gently down from the tall smokestacks. _If heaven has a smell, it must surely be like this_.

The youngest Bucket blinked his eyes open and stared with curious blue green eyes up at the huge bank of windows sweeping the front of the factory. He wondered if Willy might be watching him at that very moment. On the off chance that he was, Charlie waved. Much to his astonishment, he saw movement, for the very first time, behind the glass of one of the gigantic windows. He squinted to try and see more clearly. Yes, there was no mistaking that flash of plum red! It must be Willy Wonka. As he eagerly waved again, Charlie caught a slight movement of lime green beside the man. He blinked his eyes to clear them and strained to look again. What was that? It was too big to be a squirrel or a kitten. Besides whoever heard of a green squirrel or kitten? It was too small to be another person. What was it?

Only slightly reluctant, Charlie turned toward home. He did not want to risk his promised visit to the park tomorrow by being late. As he walked, he turned over the mystery of what he had seen in his mind. What was green and that size? A plant? No, that didn't make any sense. Most plants did not move without help from something else, like the wind, unless it was a Venus flytrap? And why would Willy Wonka have a carnivorous plant? To eat the bugs his sweet scented factory attracted? The thought made Charlie giggle again. If Willy was using plants to get rid of bugs, he would need a lot of them! He knew if he was a bug, he would love to be inside the factory. He pictured insect eating plants filling the chocolate factory, surrounding all of the candy making machines, snapping up any bug that dared to venture near Wonka's wonderful candy. It gave a whole new meaning to the word 'plant' for a factory. He reminded himself that Willy would be very careful to keep anything as unsanitary as insects out of his chocolate factory. Except maybe insects like bees that would be useful in pollinating plants and making honey. Did Willy have honey bees inside his complex? He had to admit it would be useful for a candy maker to have a large supply of sweet, delicious honey on hand.

A dart of color drew Charlie attention to an empty window box. A blue jay! He turned more seriously thoughtful. Were there any birds that were green and large enough to be what he had seen? Weren't there green parrots? And parrots could be fairly large and were supposed to live a long time. He'd read that some of them could live as long as people! So maybe Mr. Wonka had a parrot to keep him company. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. A parrot, especially if it talked, would be an excellent companion for a lonely person stuck inside practically all the time. He bounced slightly once, almost certain his mystery was solved and hurried home.

"Hi Mom!" He called as he closed the front door.

"Welcome home, Charlie," his mother responded, wiping her hands on her apron. "Did you see Willy in the park today?"

"No ma'am, but I expect he has lots of work to catch up. He'll be there tomorrow."

"Oh, of course, he will!" She pushed her hair back and turned back to her cleaning, the tiniest hint of a pucker touched her brow. She hoped Willy was all right. He'd left so abruptly and she was not entirely sure he was recovered yet. She wondered if she and Mr. Bucket should go with Charlie, just to check on him. She considered it while she worked. He was a grown man and had been taking care of himself for a long time. He must have! Who else was around to do it? After wavering between the two extremes, she finally decided to let the 'boys' enjoy their day together without 'adults' to put a damper on things. It would probably do both of them a world of good. Charlie so seldom had opportunities to just be a child and Willy sounded like he hadn't much of a childhood either. He needed to escape the confines and responsibilities of his life, alone in that humongous complex. And if Willy wasn't doing well, her Charlie would be the first to let her know and would quite possibly drag him back home again if he thought it necessary.

Mrs. Bucket glanced over to where her son was doing his homework. She paused for a moment. Maybe she was remembering incorrectly? "Did Willy say when he would meet you?"

Charlie's pencil paused as he looked up at her and considered the question. "No." A troubled look crept on to his face. He didn't want to be late and make Willy wait for him!

"Ah," she considered it for a second, before continuing cheerfully, "well, you'll just have to get there early then."

"Right after breakfast?" Charlie asked anxiously.

"That sounds about right. Right after breakfast it is then!"

Grateful his mother understood, Charlie returned to his homework. While he was finishing the last lines of his history paper, another thought occurred to him. He looked up. "I need something to carry Willy's hat and umbrella in." While the hat had gotten wet and dirty from being left on the ground by its owner, he and his mom had gently brushed it off as soon as they got home that night. He had carefully placed it beside his bed so it was the first thing he saw, right after the chocolate factory, when he woke. The next morning, he had examined it anxiously, but, to his relief, the top hat did not look like it had suffered from the casual treatment. In fact, it had looked remarkably unfazed and untouched, as good as if it was brand new or almost new.

Mother and son searched through the available bags to find one that was large enough and good enough to hold such a valuable possession. When her only child was happily satisfied with their selection, she turned her attention to fixing dinner.

**- W – C – F –**

Saturday held true to the fair promise of Friday. The entire city seemed to buzz with an unusual amount of energy under the blessing of the gorgeous day. Perhaps it was because of the early winter storm or maybe it was just the delight of enjoying such lovely weather so close to the onset of winter. Whatever the reason, everyone seemed to find reason to do something outside or go somewhere. Full of a good breakfast, Charlie skipped all the way to the park to wait for the arrival of Mr. Willy Wonka, chocolate maker extraordinaire. Much to his surprise, he did not have to wait however, because Willy was waiting for him.

Willy, hatless for once and dressed in a dapper chocolate frock coat, smiled broadly upon spotting the happy, energetic child. He was pleased as punch to see that the too slim frame actually appeared to have gained a little weight. He spoke, embarrassed, as soon as Charlie was within hearing distance. "I realized I forgot to say when, dear boy, so I made sure to arrive early."

"I wanted to beat you here," Charlie responded. "I hope you haven't waited for long." Surely, he had more important things to do with his free time than wait for little boys.

"Not at all," Willy beamed down at his friend. "What do you want to do first?" While waiting for Charlie's arrival, he had checked what was available and also found a large and small slide, a jungle gym and a merry-go-round.

"First, here is your hat and umbrella," Charlie smiled warmly at his older friend's enthusiasm. He offered the sack with the items to Willy.

"Thank you!" Willy eagerly removed his top hat and carefully positioned it in place on his head. He closed the bag and presented it back to Charlie. "You keep the umbrella. I think you have more use for it than I."

"I couldn't!" Charlie responded, shocked.

Willy waved his hand, dismissing the objection. "Nonsense, now come on, let's go swing!" He grabbed the boy's free hand, tugging him with gentle impatience toward the set. "Do you want me to push you to get you going?" Amazingly, no one else had come to the park so they had it to themselves.

Charlie nodded. "Yes, please." As soon as he was comfortably and safely seated, Willy gave him a mighty push. When he returned from his arc into the sky, he received another strong shove. Willy then ran around to the other swing and sat down in it. He pushed off with his feet and started to rocking his legs up and down, making himself go higher and higher. Joyous laughter rang out from the two friends as they enjoyed themselves. The boy was astonished when Willy somehow managed to synchronize his swinging arc with Charlie's. They grinned at each other, blue eyes and purple ones met, sparkling with delight.

"How is the kitten doing?"

"Quite well actually," Willy responded. "She's doing much better than I expected this soon." He thought about it. Perhaps she was only recently abandoned, but that didn't explain why the rest of the litter had . . . "She chased a bit of yarn this morning." He nodded to confirm it.

"Good! Have you named her? Are you going to keep her?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know yet."

Charlie looked questioningly at Willy. Maybe he was worried the kitten would attack his parrot when she was bigger?

"I'm waiting for her eyes to change color before I name her," Willy explained. "She can see now, but they're still kitten blue. As to keeping her, I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose . . . Yes, I suppose I shall keep her." He nodded again, his decision made. Willy turned his attention to the forthcoming holiday feast. "Charlie, what do you want for Thanksgiving? I've already planned to roast a turkey, but what else do you want to eat with it?"

The idea of a turkey, an entire turkey, made Charlie Bucket gasp in surprise. He looked thoughtfully at his feet as he swung up into the blue sky. "I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Well, think about it now. I must know what you like," Willy exclaimed somewhat impatiently.

Charlie thought hard, remembering what the other kids had talked about at school. "There's stuffing, right? That's traditional."

"Quite traditional," Willy agreed.

"What else do people usually have for Thanksgiving?"

"Well, there's cranberry sauce."

"Is that that jelly type stuff?"

Willy Wonka made a face. "Ew, only if it comes from a can. I assure you, dear Charlie, **my **cranberry sauce **never** comes from a can!"

"Let's have that!"

"What else?"

Charlie racked his memory and thought of something his mother particularly liked. "Green beans?"

"Certainly!"

He suddenly remembered a favorite of his father's. "Garlic mashed potatoes!"

"I have a wonderful recipe that I've been dying to try out. Would you like a loaf of fresh baked bread?"

"Yum!"

"I'll take that as a yes," Willy's eyes laughed at him. He dragged his feet to slow his swing and pulled a notepad and pen from a pocket. He began to jot the things they'd discussed down. "What about dessert?"

"What do people usually have for Thanksgiving?"

"Pumpkin pie is most traditional. I believe pecan pie or sweet potato pie is frequently served in the South."

Charlie looked up at the sky, considering it.

"Is there something else you would rather have?" Willy coaxed. "It doesn't have to be traditional, you know."

"Chocolate cake?"

"I love chocolate cake! Chocolate, yellow or white?"

"What?" Charlie dragged his own feet so he came to a stop and looked at his friend, puzzled.

"The layers of the cake, my boy. Do you want chocolate layers, yellow layers or white layers?"

Charlie shook his head in bewilderment.

Willy smiled gently at him. "I believe white layers would be good for a holiday cake."

He immediately nodded in agreement, somewhat relieved to have the decision out of his hands.

Willy returned his notepad and pen to their pocket, perhaps guessing Charlie was being overwhelmed by the choices. "Shall we go slide?"

"Okay!" The boy agreed readily.

Willy jumped off the swing. "Last one there is a silly goose!" He ran, laughing, Charlie hard on his heels. He just barely reached the largest slide first by virtue of longer legs, slowed by his injured leg. With another laugh, he climbed to the top and slid down, holding his arms in the air. "Whee!" Willy cried as he came quickly down to the ground. He jumped out of the way so Charlie could follow him.

Charlie slid down with a huge grin, just like Willy, with his arms above his head. He didn't yell on the way, but did it quietly. He considered how his friend was jumping and running around, and realized Willy Wonka was doing much better. While he was still limping, his leg showed no signs of giving out under him. He was hardly using his cane at all.

After a few more turns down the slide, the two friends sat on a bench, taking a break. Willy shared a bar of chocolate with Charlie. They ate it slowly, both of them savoring the taste, nearly identical expressions of bliss on their faces.

Charlie Bucket smiled gently as he watched at Willy enjoying his own candy. Looking at his gentleman, you would never guess that he owned the world's largest chocolate factory and could have as much chocolate as he wanted at any time. He considered it as he nibbled another bit from his share. He guessed that was why Wonka chocolate tasted so wonderful. Its creator still appreciated it as much as, well, someone like him, who only received it once a year. He looked down and smiled to himself. He supposed he couldn't say that any more. He had eaten more chocolate this year than all the other years of his life put together. Looking at Willy once more, he hoped he never lost the sense of wonder, delight and desire he received from chocolate. If Mr. Willy Wonka could still feel it, so could he!

Willy smiled back at Charlie, wondering what he was thinking about. Such a serious and determined expression! His eyes slid half closed. Charlie was quite the thoughtful and nice child. There was a not hint of spoiled rotten anywhere about him. He stared off into the distance, looking at the chimneys from his beloved factory. What would life have been like if he had meet Charlie when he was a child? Would they have become friends? Would Charlie have wanted to be friends with the freak he had been then, locked in his cage of dental gear? His brow furrowed with the thought. He remained, in his own way, a freak now and Charlie still wanted to be friends with him, even though he was practically ancient next to the boy. He knew deep in the bottom of his heart that it wasn't because of his chocolate factory or the fame or money or 'bragging rights'. Charlie wasn't the type of child to brag. No, he gave his friendship, simply and purely, without pity or ulterior motive. Not like . . . Out of his control, his mind drifted off, locking him into the memory of the distant past, the cruel teasing of others was reverberating in his ears once more. "Weirdo freak! Freaky fraidy weirdo Willy," he chanted softly, echoing their words.

Charlie looked up sharply as his ears caught the words Willy was saying. _What?_ "Willy?" He touched the man's arm with a gentle hand, and then shook it anxiously as he continued saying the hateful words in a monotone. "Willy! Stop it! You're not! Stop saying that!" Sympathetic tears filled his eyes and caught in his throat. "Please, stop saying that. You're not! You're not a weirdo or a freak. You're my friend, my best friend!" Thoughtlessly, he threw his arms around the chocolatier and hugged him as tightly as he could.

The shock of the hug brought Willy Wonka back to himself. He gasped and froze for a full minute, finally relaxing ever so slowly into the warmth and love offered by Charlie. He looked down as he ineptly wrapped his own arms around the boy. He was stunned to see tears running down the child's cheeks. "Charlie? Stop crying, please don't cry." His voice dropped to a high pitched whisper, sounding lost and afraid. "Please!"

Charlie pulled back slightly so he could look up into Willy's face. He removed one arm so he could brush the tears from his face. "I'll make you a deal. I will stop crying if you stop saying those horrible things."

Willy's face blanked. "What things?" _What have I done now?_

"Calling yourself things like," Charlie hesitated, really not waiting to say them, "weirdo and freak. You are not! You're my friend and a good man, a kind and generous person!" He nodded, fiercely determined to convince him. If he had to say it every day from now on, he was going to stop him from believing those terrible, cruel words.

Willy removed his arms from around Charlie and put his gloved hands in his lap. He looked down at them, ashamed, not looking at the boy. "I'm sorry. It . . . I must have been having another flashback." _They must be getting worse_, he reasoned sickly. Maybe it would be best if he stayed away from the Buckets, especially Charlie; if he was . . . He shook as he considered the consequences if he was worsening.

Charlie returned to hugging Willy, feeling a sudden strong desire to protect this wonderful, unique, considerate, childlike man. "A flashback? Like war veterans have sometimes after terrible experiences?" He looked up into Willy's face and received a tiny nod of acknowledgement. "I don't know who said that, but they were wrong. They're wrong now and they were wrong then. It was mean and bad. You're a good person, Willy Wonka, and I don't want you to ever forget that." His blue eyes full of gentle compassion and sincerity, he finished, putting all the conviction a child can possess into his voice. "You're my friend and I love you."


	29. Chapter 28 Secrets and Understanding

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 28 - Secrets and Understanding**

Willy Wonka felt as if the whole world had slowed to a standstill, even his heartbeat and breathing seemed to stop, as he struggled to absorb Charlie Bucket's words. _Love?_ Did he, Willy Wilhelm William Willoughby Willard Wilmer Wilton Wilfred Wilbur Wonka, even know what 'love' was? Sure, he knew he loved his chocolate and candy making. He loved the Oompa-Loompas. He had even loved his papa. He tried, with all of his might, to put love into every piece of candy, from the largest to the tiniest, that he made and sold. But love him? A frisson ran through his slender frame as revelation and pure joy dawned inside his soul. Charlie loved him. He had no doubts that the boy meant exactly what he said. Love, he knew from the books he had read, was suppose to be unconditional and for the very first time in his life, he understood what that meant. It suddenly didn't matter that he was not worthy. Love was and had been given freely to him. A warm glow of wonder filled his iolite eyes turning them to the color of the purest, highest quality amethyst. He looked down into Charlie's true blue eyes. Could he say it? Could he make his recalcitrant mind and tongue say it? He blinked and a single tear slid down his porcelain cheek, now touched with the faintest blush. "I . . . I love you too, Charlie." He wrapped long arms gently around the slim boy. His eyes slid shut as another tear fell. "I love you. You are the very best, most special, wonderful friend I could ever have in the whole wide world." He shook his head. "I don't know what I did to deserve you." He swallowed and shivered.

Charlie gladly sank into the warm hug, feeling his love returned a thousand fold. "By being you, Willy, by just being you," he said with the clear wisdom of a child. His heart recognized a simple fact, Willy knew how to give love, he just wasn't sure how to receive it or even if he received it. He could and would show his friend for the rest of their lives that he was loved and cherished. Charlie Bucket could not know he was not the only one trying to teach Willy Wonka that life lesson.

Willy sniffed and pulled out two white handkerchiefs. He offered one to Charlie, even as he dabbed his own eyes with the other. He sniffed again and blew his nose. The handkerchief vanished back into one of his pockets. "What," he swallowed again before continuing, "what do you want to do now, Charlie?"

Charlie smiled and wiped the tears from his face. He offered Willy his handkerchief back. Willy shook his head. With a silent sigh, Charlie placed it in one of his own pockets. Was the man always so generous with his possessions? The only things the boy could think of that Willy didn't want to share was his factory and candy recipes. Remembering Flicker, he thought of something else to add, his top hat. He had a suspicion his frock coat might also fall into the non-shared category. Returning to the question at hand, he spoke. "How about the merry-go-round?"

Willy nodded and they both walked over to the round metal playground ride. "Do you know how to work it?"

Charlie blinked and looked up at his taller friend. He couldn't see his eyes to know if he was serious. "You stand on it, grab one of the rails," he pointed to the railing that divided it in fourths, "and push it with a foot to get it started. Then, you grab the wheel," he indicated it in the center, "and turn it as hard as you can to make it go faster."

The candy maker scratched his head. "Okay. I can do that." He stepped on board and waited for Charlie to join him.

"Turn the other way," Charlie instructed with fond exasperation.

Willy looked at him puzzled.

"So you won't be pushing with your hurt leg," he explained.

Willy mouthed a silent 'oh' and obediently turned around to face the other direction. Charlie got on the opposite side from Willy and they both pushed off. After they had it moving as fast as they safely could that way, Charlie shouted, "Grab the wheel!" With a nod, Willy reached over and grasped the center wheel with both hands. Charlie was there a second later. They began to turn it, spinning around faster and faster. The faster they went, the more Willy giggled. The wind of their spins blew his hair back from his face and he smiled as he leaned back to look down at the ground. He glanced up and stared at the trees and the glimpses of buildings, including his factory, as they whirled by. Starting to feel dizzy, he looked at Charlie and grinned widely, showing perfect white teeth. He began to laugh again. Laughter being contagious, Charlie soon joined in. Breathless, they finally let the ride slow to a stop.

"I'm dizzy," Charlie managed to gasp between giggles.

"Me too!" Willy grinned madly, a slightly manic look in his eyes as he leaned toward his friend. "Let's do it again!"

Charlie's shoulders shook with silent laughter at the man's youthful enthusiasm. "Maybe later. Let's go swing some more," he suggested.

As readily as any small child, Willy accepted the new idea happily. "'Kay," he chirped and eagerly bounded back to the swings. He looked back over his shoulder at Charlie. "Come on, slow poke!"

Charlie laughed out loud. "I'm coming!" He ran to join his friend on the swings.

As with all good things, the morning eventually came to an end. Charlie looked up at Willy sadly. "I have to go home for lunch."

Willy nodded. He knew it was important for the boy to eat. He certainly needed to put on some more weight. However, the man was sorry their fun was over.

"Why don't you come with me?" Charlie asked eagerly.

The chocolatier frowned slightly. He really wished he could take his friend up on his offer, but didn't think it was fair to the Buckets. He realized that Mr. and Mrs. Bucket worked as hard as they possibly could to provide for their son, but it just wasn't enough. He thought about it some more, then smiled again. "Hey! I got an idea!" He nodded to himself. "How about I go get a basket of food first? Yeah! And then we'll eat it at your house."

Charlie considered it. He knew his parents didn't like accepting charity. But was it really charity when it was a friend? It would be like them eating at Willy's house. Besides it was probably the only way to get Willy to come. That decided him. "Okay!"

They walked to the corner below the factory. "You wait here. I'll be right back!" Willy looked both ways and then strode across the street. He slipped in through the little gate on the left and quickly disappeared inside. Charlie stood, trying to be patient as he waited. He watched people walk by. Some were companionably chatting with each other. Others walked briskly as if in a rush to get somewhere. He caught sight of movement inside the gates and looked closely. It was Willy and he was carrying a large wicker picnic basket. The chocolatier paused just inside the gate as two men strolled by, walking their dogs. One had a really little dog and the other one had a really big dog. Neither men noticed the man inside the chocolate factory waiting for them to pass. As soon as they were a few feet away, Willy slipped outside his gate and hurried to the street. He carefully checked both ways again, before scurrying across to Charlie's side.

Charlie pondered what he had observed as they walked down the street. He decided to ask Willy. "Why didn't those men see you? You were right there."

Willy shrugged. "I guess because they weren't expecting me to be there. Sometimes people don't see what's under their own noses because they just won't look, Charlie."

The boy nodded thoughtfully. "One of my teachers said the same thing last year."

"Don't be like them, Charlie. It's important to see what's around you." Willy wished he had known that earlier. If he had really paid attention, the spies might not have gotten into his factory. Back then, he had been so accepting and naive. He had blithely gone about the business of making chocolate and candy with the blind belief that no one would have reason to interfere. After all, everybody (except his Dad) loved candy. Right? He knew better now, but the lesson had hurt a lot! He wondered why he hadn't known better. It wasn't like he didn't already have first hand experience of what people were capable of doing. Still, he'd finally learned and was now much more capable of figuring out other people. Hopefully, he could help Charlie to avoid his mistakes.

Mrs. Bucket was startled when Charlie burst in with Willy right behind him. She smiled at the happy pair. "Hello boys, did you have fun this morning?"

"Yes, Mom, it was great!" Charlie exclaimed.

"Yes ma'am," Willy responded.

Charlie's mother surreptitiously examined Willy from head to toe. He certainly appeared to be doing all right. While he was still limping, he also wasn't leaning on his cane. He waved it around casually as if it was an accessory rather than a necessity. Both of them had a lot more color in their cheeks. They looked flushed and happy.

"I brought food for lunch," Willy offered the basket he was carrying to his hostess.

Willy's hopeful expression silenced whatever rejection Mrs. Bucket might have made. She accepted the gift graciously as one friend from another. She turned around and placed it on the kitchen counter. Opening it, she set about adding Willy's food to what she had fixed. It wasn't until she pulled out the warm loaf of bread wrapped in a red and white checked cloth that it dawned on her. "Willy Wonka!"

Willy jumped in startlement and looked wide eyed at the woman. "Yeah?"

Mrs. Bucket turned and placed her hands on her hips. "You gave us that food!"

He blushed and looked down. "Yeah," he said in a small voice.

"You fixed the house!"

Willy nodded silently, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor.

Just then Mr. Bucket walked in the front door. He paused, his usual cheerful greeting halted by the confrontation in front of him. What now? "Mrs. Bucket?"

"Willy," Mrs. Bucket stated firmly, addressing her husband directly, "gave us all that food and fixed the house!"

Mr. Bucket considered this and looked at Willy. The man looked like he wished he could vanish. "Willy? Is this true?"

"Yes sir," Willy managed to squeak out.

"The coats? The hats and gloves?" Mr. Bucket asked, just to be certain.

Willy nodded miserably. Charlie went to his side and took one of the uncomfortable man's hands in his own. He leaned against his friend, offering silent support. The chocolatier glanced at him, smiled wanly in gratitude at the gesture, before returning his gaze to his feet.

"Why?" Mr. Bucket asked as gently as he could.

"I wanted to help!" Willy looked up briefly at the couple. "Charlie's my friend and I just wanted to . . . help." His expression crumpled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything wrong." He squeezed Charlie's hand once and then released it. "I'll . . . go," he whispered.

Charlie looked anxiously at his parents just as his father held up his hand.

"Willy, wait. You didn't do anything wrong." Mr. Bucket exchanged glances with his wife. "We were just . . . surprised. That's all. Thank you for the, uh, assistance." He didn't say charity because he had suddenly realized it hadn't been charity to Willy.

Willy blushed and looked up shyly. "You're welcome." His anxious gaze shifted to Mrs. Bucket.

Charlie's mother pushed her hair back and smiled at the nervous man. "It was very kind of you," she affirmed. "Do you assist a lot of people that way?" She needed to get Willy back to where he was comfortable as quickly as possible. It would never do to scare the poor man off. Charlie would never forgive her.

Willy shook his head. "Not in the same way. I mean I do help as many as I can. It's most important to give back to the community and since I no longer, erm, employ the people who live here, I support it in other ways."

"Oh? How?" Mrs. Bucket asked as she set out the food, now genuinely curious. She really wanted to ask how Willy had managed to repair the house all by himself and without waking them, but didn't want to scare him again. She directed her curiosity in what seemed a safer direction.

"Mostly donations," Willy answered truthfully, as he helped set the plates out. "Anonymous, of course," he explained at the Buckets' look. "I make quarterly donations to the hospital. Those are for the children's wing. I make an annual donation for general purposes." He nodded before continuing. "I give to the food banks and homeless shelter," he began ticking them off on his hand with a guileless lack of pride or modesty. He was merely reciting facts. "The animal shelters and the recreation funds." He glanced at Charlie and smiled slightly. "I donated money to put a new roof on . . ."

"My school!" Charlie exclaimed. Everyone had wondered where the timely gift had come from and now the Buckets knew.

It appeared Willy wasn't as cut off from the outside world as everyone believed. Not if he knew when the roof of Charlie's school had started leaking so badly, the parents were afraid it would have be shut down and the pupils sent elsewhere. That donation had arrived like a bolt from the blue before the news had even reached the media. How had he discovered the need? Mrs. Bucket wondered just how much Willy had 'given back to the community'.

"I also made a donation to the local playhouse so they could get back on their feet after their theater burned down."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged thoughtful looks. The papers had reported that as a gift from an anonymous group of theatrical goers. No one had a clue it had come from a recluse who had never seen a performance. It seemed nobody was associating the random generosity with the wealthiest man in the city, Willy Wonka. It was really unfair that credit wasn't being given where it was due. Of course, knowing Willy as they did now, it would probably bother him greatly if word did leak out. Not to mention, bringing people clamoring at his door for support. They didn't have to say a word to each other to know that they would keep Willy's 'little' secret and allow him to continue living and giving in peace.

Willy shrugged. "I have more money than I know what to do with anyway." Most of it went back into the factory and to build support for the Oompa-Loompas for when he was . . . gone. That still left a LOT of money in Willy's accounts. Not many people knew how much since Wonka Worldwide was a privately held company. They were also only marginally aware that it had a single owner. As Willy had explained to Charlie, people frequently didn't see what was under their own noses. Having been cheated by the spies and rival candy makers, he now worked it to his advantage as often as he could.


	30. Chapter 29 Bitter Turn

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 29 - Bitter Turn**

Willy had enjoyed his visit with Charlie and the Buckets. With some reluctance, he informed the boy that he probably would not be seeing him again until Thanksgiving. Though obviously disappointed, Charlie had shown a surprisingly mature understanding. The sun was just painting the sky red and orange as he left the Bucket household to make the trek up the hill to his factory. The smile and the happy light that had filled his eyes faded as he walked, his cane tapping on the sidewalk.

The chocolatier's thoughts turned to the discussion he'd had with Dr. Luke before going to meet Charlie in the park. He heaved a silent sigh. He hated tests, but most especially medical tests. Still, Dr. Luke was insistent as was Edmund and he had agreed to listen to them. A sly smile teased his lips; he had never said he would do everything they asked. Listening did not mean obedience. He could and would make his own decisions. He probably would allow them their tests though since he was also curious about his relapse, if it was one. He could not afford to miss more work if it happened again so it would be best to find the cause if that was possible. He just wasn't sure why he was to avoid consuming chocolate or cocoa starting in the morning or why Luke was going to follow him everywhere. Didn't Dr. Luke have better things to do with his time? He certainly had patients among the Oompa-Loompas who needed his attention.

Willy pondered the situation as he entered the main hallway. It was true he had not had any chocolate since the evening before on the day he'd gotten ill. It was extremely rare for him to go that long without consuming some derivative of the cocoa bean, the cacao bean. He couldn't remember the last time. What did that mean? Was he hypoglycemic or hyperglycemic? Could he be diabetic? No, that didn't make sense. They'd prohibited chocolate and cocoa or cacao, not sugar. Besides he had eaten sugar earlier that day, specifically when testing the new candy snow. It couldn't be some type of allergy like his dad always claimed because if it was he should have had another reaction by now. Could there be something like a reverse allergy? He'd never read of anything like that.

Maybe it was a side effect, though he would have sworn there was nothing unusual enough about the candy snow recipe to cause weird side effects. That was why he'd been doing the tasting himself, instead of getting an Oompa-Loompa volunteer to do it. His lips twisted into a wry smile. Maybe it was just all in his head. He'd had stranger things up there before. The year had certainly been rough enough to warrant some new mental aberration on his part and he did seem to be having more frequent and stronger flashbacks. Maybe he'd developed some type of psychological addiction to cocoa beans that led to bizarre withdrawal symptoms.

It was ironic he had never been teased or tormented during childhood with the most obvious and probably truest word for his nature. His mind was wonky. He was wonky. Wonky Wonka? No, it would probably have been Weirdo Willy Wonky. It was definitely alliterative, especially if he went for his full name. Weirdo Willy, no, Willy Weirdo Wilhelm William Willoughby Willard Wilmer Wilton Wilfred Wilbur Wonky Wonka. A tiny giggle slipped out before he could stop it. He froze for a brief second, surprised that he'd managed to find it amusing. Either Charlie was better for him than he realized or he needed more sleep, maybe both. That was a lot of Ws though, a full and complete dozen. No wonder he almost obsessively put it on everything. He should find one more W so it would be a baker's dozen. That would be too fitting. Wonderful? No. Wizard! He was a wizard of candy, right? So Wizard Willy Weirdo . . . Actually, he would prefer something besides weirdo, but what? Wacky? Ah, wicked! Erm, the Buckets wouldn't like that either. W . . . Wi . . . Witch, wick, wise, wily, witty, wish, win . . . Witty! That was the one. Erm, no, maybe it should be wily. It fit in just right with all those other Wil's. So it was Wily Wizard Willy Wilhelm William Willoughby Willard Wilmer Wilton Wilfred Wilbur Wonky Wonka. Most appropriate, he giggled softly to himself.

The chocolatier idly wondered if he should avoid all sweets and candy during this little test or if that would somehow nullify whatever results Dr. Luke was seeking. Maybe he would ask. He really wished the Oompa-Loompas would just tell him what they thought was the problem. He almost laughed again. That would certainly invalidate their outcome since he was their prime guinea pig. Nobody else could do it because he was the one exhibiting the peculiar symptoms.

Willy Wonka pushed aside his nagging thoughts as he entered his office to find the two Oompa-Loompas on kitten duty having conniptions as they hovered over her. "What's wrong?"

Jeff signed quickly. "She won't stop crying."

Willy's eyes widened slightly as he hastily sat on his footstool. Bob gratefully passed the mewing, squirming bundle of fur to their boss. Ever so gently, Willy held the kitten in his hands. She was so small she could fit into one purple gloved hand, but he used both, cupping her between them. He cuddled her to his neck and, as she continued crying pitifully, began to hum deep in his throat. He really wasn't a very good singer, all of the Oompa-Loompas were much better, but the kitten didn't seem to mind. He felt her nose nuzzle him and then it came, that tiny little purr. He tenderly rubbed the back of her neck with a finger, causing the purring to intensify. Maybe she thought his hum was a purr? It didn't matter as she settled into a ball of warm vibrating contentment. The chocolatier sat there humming softly to her for several minutes until she fell asleep. He slipped to his knees beside the playpen and waited as the Oompa-Loompas removed the roof of her little house. He looked at the softly cushioned bedding on the bottom and considered it. The poor thing was probably lonely without her littermates. "Guys, you know that miniature plush tiger I have? The really soft Bengal about twice her size?"

Jeff and Bob looked at each other, considering. Bob nodded as he recalled the toy.

"Bring it here, please."

The pair scurried into Willy's quarters to seek the requested item. They returned shortly, carrying the soft, floppy animal between them.

Willy nodded and reached for the toy, still cuddling the sleeping kitten carefully. He put the tiger inside the little house and then positioned the kitten close beside it. All of them watched as she yawned, her little pink tongue sticking out and curling, before snuggling closer to the toy. She was asleep again almost instantly.

"Thank you," Willy said as he stood. He bowed, crossing his arms on his chest, hands curled at his shoulders.

The pair returned the bow before putting the roof back on the kitten's house. They settled in to wait. Jeff pulled out a deck of cards.

Wonka shook his finger at them. "You better not be playing poker on duty."

The Oompa-Loompas nodded their heads and laughed. They promptly started a game of blackjack once Willy disappeared into his quarters.

**- W - C - F -**

Dr. Luke knocked on Willy's hidden door early the next morning. The sun had not yet risen and he smothered a yawn as he waited for a response. A moment later, it was opened with a cheerful "good morning". The Oompa-Loompa wondered, not for the first time, how Willy could be so darned happy and awake this early when he persisted in staying up until all hours of the night on a semi-regular basis. He knew for a fact that the candy maker had been up into the wee hours of the morning. It was a mystery that confounded and fascinated the tribe.

"Breakfast?"

"Please," the Oompa-Loompa followed his bouncing patient to the eating nook. He climbed the ladder to the bench that allowed Willy's smaller employees to sit at his table. A plate of chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes was immediately placed in front of him. An Oompa-Loompa sized mug of hot chocolate was set to one side. Willy walked into the kitchen area and soon returned with his own plate of scrambled cheese eggs and toast.

The candy maker took a sip of his fresh squeezed orange juice and then dug into his eggs. He ate for a few moments, before turning to his physician. "You don't have to follow me all day, you know."

Luke sighed. "I want to follow you. I need to be able to regularly check your vitals."

"Bo-o-o-ring!"

"You do realize that if you start feeling sick again, I will need blood samples."

Willy sniffed disdainfully. "Pin pricks." And they were, especially compared to what full sized physicians and nurses did. _There are advantages to having the smallest physician in the world_, Willy thought smugly. For one, it meant that less was required when he took his samples. It also meant that if an injury needed to be sutured, it was done neatly with minuscule, perfect stitches. That was one reason his leg had recovered as well as it had. With another doctor, he might have lost some of the use of it. Dr. Luke really should have become a surgeon. Talk about a delicate touch and small incisions!

"Did you have fun yesterday?"

"Oh boy, did I! It was great. Charlie's a good kid." Willy smiled, a warm glow filling his lively eyes. "He is a really good friend, my best friend." He looked anxiously at Dr. Luke, hoping that wouldn't be deemed offensive. The Oompa-Loompas had been his only friends for a very long time.

"That's good to hear, dear heart. Everyone needs a best friend," the physician responded serenely. He hid a sigh of relief. They'd all been hoping that Willy would somehow develop a stronger attachment outside of his factory. With the death of his father, there had seemed nothing left to draw him there. Young Charlie Bucket was a bright stroke of good fortune. His existence would continue to lure Wonka beyond his high walls and lead to social interaction, if only on a small scale.

As they ate, Willy excitedly described his day with Charlie and the visit to the Buckets. "They figured it out," he finished with a pout.

Dr. Luke looked up curiously. "Figured what out?"

"That I, erm, you know, gave them the food and the coats and was responsible for fixing their house."

Dr. Luke chuckled. "Ah, but do they know how you did it?"

The chocolatier perked up. "No! Not even Charlie has guessed that." He preened slightly. "I could never have done it without the tribe. You guys did a great job!"

"You did a fine job yourself, Willy. The birds and flowers you painted on their walls are beautiful and very realistic."

Willy blushed at the compliment. Painting was one of the innumerable hobbies he now possessed. It was one of his favorites. He shook his head and stood up. "Hurry up and finish. I have a lot of work to get done today." He collected his plate and eating utensils, rinsing them off before placing them in the dishwasher.

"Yes Willy." Dr. Luke used the last bite of his delicious pancakes to mop up the remaining chocolate syrup. He finished with a sigh of pleasure and happiness. Willy's cooking was definitely a treat to be savored.

Willy drank the last of his orange juice and took care of the rest of the dishes. He considered his plans for the day and decided the administrative work and paperwork could be left until later. If he did start feeling sick, he was sure to be sent back to bed. He could do that stuff there. So, that left the maintenance on the lollipop and candy cane lines, the taffy machine and fudge rooms or the inventing room. He'd really like to go to the inventing room, but he knew he better get the maintenance work done first. It had already waited too long, while the work in the inventing room could keep. New candies and machines just weren't as pressing a need. Decided, he removed his apron, put on his coat and top hat and grabbed his cane from the umbrella stand by the door. "Let's boogie!"

**- W - C - F -**

Willy set aside his wrench and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. _Thank goodness, I completed the maintenance first!_ "I'm starting to feel bad," he told Dr. Luke. It was just a niggle, a slight smudge of unwell sensation. He would have missed it, if he hadn't been looking for the change. He didn't want to be sick. He hated being sick.

The Oompa-Loompa immediately rose from where he had been reading the latest medical journal (Willy subscribed to several) and hastened to his patient's side. He checked his pulse, temperature, heartbeat and blood pressure and noted the results in a little notebook. He signed to an anxiously watching Oompa-Loompa to fetch Willy some chocolate before pulling out a tiny needle to collect a blood sample. He mentally noted that he should have had some of the candy already on hand, but then again, this was a chocolate factory. It wasn't like they were going to run out or have to go very far for it.

Willy watched with wide eyes as his physician acted with his usual efficiency. "Now what?" he asked as the Oompa-Loompa hurried up with a small ladle full of melted chocolate and offered it to him.

"Drink up," Dr. Luke told him. "I think you should go to bed and rest."

"I knew you were going to say that!" Willy interrupted.

Dr. Luke rolled his eyes and stared up at him expectantly.

"Oops," Willy quickly drank down the chocolate. He smacked his lips as he considered the flavor and texture. _Yum, river, just past the waterfall._ That was where his best chocolate came from. "Thank you," he told the Oompa-Loompa who bowed in return before scurrying off to spread the news.

"Now, you go to bed and I'll get the tests started on this sample." Dr. Luke told him. "I will come by to check you again soon."

Resigned, Willy shrugged and reached for his cane as he stood. He might actually need it before he got back to his quarters judging by his reactions the last time. "Let me know what you find out as soon as possible," the candy maker ordered before pushing the elevator call button. His mind was already considering the paperwork that was waiting to be done. _Need to figure the year end bonuses and raises._ Doris could send the files to his laptop so he could start working on them while he was resting in bed. They should, he felt, take into account more than just production increases, improvements in efficiency and profits. He also firmly believed it was his responsiblity to decide the bonuses and pay raises, which should be delivered promptly and on time. It was a small courtesy to give his hard working employees.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy Wonka looked up from his work as Dr. Luke entered his bedroom. One fine brow arched as he watched the Oompa-Loompa. He hid a smile as his physician shook his head in resignation. _Yes, you should have known better_, he thought complacently. "I'm guessing it's too early for any findings."

"Yes, it is," Dr. Luke climbed the ladder to Willy's high, plush bed. He laid his notebook on his employer's lap desk and looked up at him, his dark eyes serious. "How do you feel now?"

"Fine," the factory owner responded as he automatically saved his work. "More tests?"

The Oompa-Loompa nodded. "More tests." He performed them quickly, once more checking and recording Willy's vitals. He took another small sample of blood and stared at the vial. "I would like to email a few medical physicians that I've met over the internet."

"Why?" It always bothered Willy when one of the Oompa-Loompas exchanged emails with strangers. It wasn't that he didn't trust his employees and friends because he did; he just didn't trust the people on the other end. What if one of them was a cyber stalker or something? They might hurt somebody!

"I will admit I am," Dr. Luke considered his words carefully, "perplexed by the results of my tests so far." He shook his head. "I've never heard of another case like this."

"Then I take it I am not dealing with low blood sugar, high blood sugar or an allergy," Willy stated.

"No, what made you decide . . .?"

"They were," Willy pursed his lips as he thought, "viable possibilities. Do you concede it could have something to do with that dang whangdoodle?"

Dr. Luke stared up as his patient. "Possible. You are the only survivor of a sting that I know. I suppose it could have affected your blood chemistry or something."

"But what? And why would chocolate act as a counteragent?"

"I have no idea. Of course, I also have no idea why we Oompa-Loompas crave cocoa beans as much as we do. We'll need to perform more tests."

"You know, we always assumed I survived because I was bigger. Maybe it wasn't that or maybe that was only part of the reason. Maybe chocolate had something to do with it." He'd had lots of chocolate in his supplies when he was in Loompaland, but then he'd always traveled with lots of chocolate. Willy eyed his doctor in speculation. "Maybe that's why you guys crave cocoa beans. Maybe something inside you instinctively knew they could help you survive." He shrugged at the incredulous look on Dr. Luke's face and sniffed. "It's just an idea. They are discovering a lot of beneficial properties in cocoa beans now, you know."

"Yes, I know." He had read the same studies that Willy had. "Actually, it is a brilliant suggestion and certainly worth pursuing. I just have no idea how to test your theory, Dr. Wonka."

"Don't call me that!" Willy snapped. His f-fa-fa-dad was Dr. Wonka and he never, **ever** wanted to be him.

Dr. Luke blinked and filed the response away to be discussed at a later time. He decided it was best to ignore the reaction for now. "I think I'll send an email to Dr. Jack."

Willy laughed, relaxing again. "Dr. Jack is a pediatrician."

"And quite intelligent. He is most innovative in his treatments and diagnosis."

"Whatever," Willy waved off the burst of enthusiasm. "Since I feel fine, I am going to the inventing room. If you need to run more tests, you'll find me there."

**- W - C - F -**

Willy, patiently and impatiently in turns, underwent tests over several more days. Dr. Jack had been fascinated and agreed he had never heard of a similar case. He had gone so far as to consult with an entomologist after Luke admitted to him his patient had once been stung by a rare, 'unidentified' insect. Following Dr. Jack's suggestions, Dr. Luke had begun measuring Wonka's responses to varying amounts of chocolate or cocoa. Through trial and error, they found the minimum dose required to keep Willy feeling healthy.

The tests finally ended and not a moment too soon as far as Willy was concerned. He was beginning to feel more like Willy Wonka the Amazing Pincushion. Every time he thought about his health being dependent on cocoa beans, he felt really weird. It was taking quite a bit of adjustment to accept the fact he now **needed** chocolate. It was a bizarre and bitter development as if life was mocking the great chocolatier.

In addition to his new daily requirement, the weather was grating on his nerves. He could feel the shifting that said some extremely wicked weather was brewing. The fronts decided to collide and release the brutal storm on the same day that the Buckets' turkey arrived. Willy rushed through his duties so he could begin preparing the feast he had planned for them. He hurried into his office, still dressed in his work overalls. The kitten, now bigger and much more active, mewed at him from her playpen, begging him to play with her. She no longer required constant care and her eyes were a brilliant golden copper.

"I'll be back as soon as I get that turkey started," Willy promised her before going into his quarters. Once he had the large bird slow roasting, he returned to his office. He tossed his cap on to his desk and ran his hands through his hair, returning it to a slight resemblance of order. He smiled at the anxious kitten as he lifted her from her playpen. She licked his chin, making him laugh, in spite of his nerves, as her ears tickled him. He drifted over to his desk to find a bit of string for her to chase. He rubbed her head behind her ears and glanced outside at the stormy weather to see if he could spot the Buckets' little home. He froze in shock as the tempest overwhelmed his senses. His mouth dropped open as his blood pounded in his ears. A flashback roared up to claim him in its unyielding grip. Desperately, Willy fought it off, knowing he would pay for it later, but right now he could not afford the loss of time. He must reach his friends immediately!


	31. Chapter 30 Up and Out

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 30 - Up and Out**

Willy Wonka paused long enough to return the kitten to her playpen, before running from his office. He uttered an undulating call by rolling his tongue and flicking it rapidly up and down. An Oompa-Loompa immediately appeared at his side. "Spread the word. I want everyone to return to the village until further notice, 'kay?"

The little man looked at his boss, thoroughly puzzled by the odd order. Nonetheless, he bowed and indicated his understanding and obedience.

The chocolatier shouted his thanks over his shoulder as he resumed running for the elevator. Pushing the call button, he was relieved by the almost immediate ding announcing its arrival. He stepped inside, took a deep breath and pressed a clear glass button labeled 'Up and Out'. He had never imagined his first use of that particular button being like this. He had always thought it would be for a grand and wonderful occasion. Oompa-Loompas throughout the factory paused to watch as the elevator rushed by faster then normal, heading for the enormous center stack of the chocolate factory. Once the glass elevator reached the wide tower, it began to soar upwards, accelerating even more as it zoomed past the levels. Willy looked up, anxiously urging the elevator to more speed. Worried about his friends, he did not receive the delight he had long anticipated as it burst through the ceiling, scattering debris everywhere.

For a moment the glass elevator hung suspended in the clouds before plunging toward the distant ground. Willy turned to contemplate the buttons on its side and pressed another one. The silver metal claws that normally held the elevator to its cables shifted positions and rockets roared to life, halting its fall. He pushed another button and it began to roar its way through the raging storm toward the location of the Bucket house. It landed a few feet away and its doors slid open. Apprehensive, Willy Wonka ran to the front door. He knocked urgently with the head of his cane.

Mrs. Bucket opened the door and was surprised to find the candy maker standing there with water dripping from his soaked hair and off the end of his nose. The rain slid off his purple work overalls, running under the collar and soaking his shirt underneath it.

"Please tell me you have a storm cellar," Willy asked, his eyes anxiously pleading for a positive response.

Startled by the question, Mrs. Bucket shook her head.

Willy turned to stare off into the distance, before focusing on the woman once more. "You have five minutes to grab your most important and prized possessions. Please hurry!" He looked past to see Charlie's worried face staring at him. "You too, Charlie! Hurry! No time! No time!" He placed his hands on Mrs. Bucket's shoulders and turned her around, pushing her to get her moving.

Stunned, Mrs. Bucket obediently ran into her bedroom to grab a few items, photographs and papers of particularly sentimental value, important to no one save her family. She shoved them into a large tote and dashed back into the main room of the house just as her son slid down the ladder from his attic bedroom, his book bag slung over one shoulder. Willy held out her coat, Charlie's tossed over an arm. She accepted it and quickly pulled it on, even as Willy helped Charlie put on his.

The chocolatier anxiously herded the mother and son outside into the raging storm. He urged them toward a nearly invisible box shape, water sluicing off its sides in torrents. His heart in his throat, Willy glanced fearfully over his shoulder as he pushed the button to open the doors. The Buckets were bewildered as they were shoved inside, the man right behind them. Willy stared at them worriedly. "You might want to sit in the corner and hold on tight," he warned as he pushed a button. The rockets roared back to life, competing with the noise of the storm as the glass elevator lifted off from the ground.

Willy looked back toward the little house and squeaked in alarm. He whipped back to scan the buttons covering the wall beside him and pressed one. The elevator's rockets increased their power, sending it into overdrive as a large funnel began to drop from the dark clouds. The wind and turbulence shook the elevator hard, knocking its inventor into the doors. He gasped as he toppled to the floor.

The Buckets clung tightly to each other as they were shaken around. They stared in horror as the tornado bore down on their home. Mrs. Bucket pulled Charlie's head down to her shoulder and closed her eyes, hiding the destruction from view. The three people were tossed about helplessly as their transportation tried to outrace the raging monster following them as it carved a path of destruction.

Willy struggled to his feet, his eyes locked on the funnel cloud as it sucked up debris from its devastation. He searched blindly with one hand for another button and pressed it. The elevator seemed to literally leap toward the chocolate factory on the hill, as its builder urged it to greater speed in desperate flight from the pursuing tornado. As the elevator plunged back through the hole it had ripped in the factory's ceiling, the chocolatier leaned back against the rear of the elevator, sliding down to the floor. He noted the Buckets were still clinging to each other; their eyes were clamped shut. He breathed a silent sigh of relief as he looked up. He watched anxiously as the rockets shut off and the metal arms swung out to grasp their cables. Brakes squealed loudly as they tightened, trying to slow their descent.

Silence filled the glass elevator as it regained control. It jerked on to a new track, obediently sending the elevator toward the factory's executive row. Willy clasped his right wrist for a moment as they entered the shaft and slowed to a halt. The ding as the doors opened seemed out of place as it shattered the stunned quiet.

"All out," Willy said as he turned to the Buckets. Their eyes blinked open. Mrs. Bucket stared up at the candy maker, her eyes dilated with shock.

Charlie sat back on his heels and looked up at his friend. Where were they? He helped Willy coax his shaking mother to her feet. He guided them down an elegant hallway to a pair of ornately carved doors. Willy grasped a handle and pushed one open, leading the pair inside. Charlie and Willy helped his mother sit in a well padded red leather chair.

Willy looked at Charlie and smiled wanly, his drenched hair drooping in a limp, tangled mess. A shiver ran through his lean frame. "Welcome to the factory." He patted the woman gently on her shoulder, his own memories of a vanished home made it easy to sympathize with the Buckets. He guessed that the destruction had not hit Charlie yet, but knew it would not be long before it did.

A loud mew filled the silence, the kitten demanding attention. Willy turned to look at the eager animal and went to pick her up. He brought her over to Mrs. Bucket and gently offered her to the woman. "Her name is Oriana," he said, deciding on it in that moment, as she cuddled the soft, friendly kitten.

"That's a beautiful name," Mrs. Bucket responded as she stroked the purring animal. She looked up. "Are we really inside the factory?"

Willy nodded solemnly. A roaring filled the room as the funnel cloud slammed into the factory. Both Buckets blanched, but the building didn't even shake as it easily bore the brunt of the tornado. "Don't worry. You'll be safe here," Willy promised. He started to shake, cold, wet and distressed. He somehow found the strength to push it away and looked around. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or hot chocolate?"

Charlie looked at him wide-eyed from where he was leaning against his mother. "Hot chocolate, please." Harriet Bucket nodded in agreement.

Willy walked over to a small oak counter. There were several faucets. He filled two small cups from one and carried them to the Buckets. "Try this. It's even better than hot chocolate." As if surrendering, the tornado faded to nothing as abruptly as it had formed, leaving the wind and heavy rain to lash the expanse of windows.

Charlie took a deep breath, inhaling the rich aroma. The flavor of pure melted chocolate filled him, warmth curling around deep inside, as he took a sip. As Willy had promised, it was indeed better than hot chocolate or anything else he had ever tasted. He took another sip of the thick drink.

Mrs. Bucket started to relax, shock fading as she enjoyed the warm, delicious liquid. Her eyes examined her son anxiously. She was relieved to realize that he was unharmed. She turned her attention to the candy maker and frowned in concern.

"That is the purest, finest chocolate straight from my ri . . . uh, assembly line," Willy stated proudly.

"You're soaked to the bone and freezing," she exclaimed.

Willy halted like a startled deer and stared at her, blinking with incomprehension.

"You need to get out of those wet things immediately!"

"Er," Willy backed up slowly, "not really cold. No, not any more. It's quite warm in here." He nodded vigorously to reinforce his statement. "Changing can wait. I . . . Erm, when does Mr. Bucket get off work?" He shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

"Mr. Bucket?" Harriet Bucket set the cup down and wrung her hands, thinking about her husband arriving home and finding it and them gone. Oh, they had to reach him first!

"Yes, what time?" Willy asked again.

"Five thirty," Charlie answered.

"The toothpaste factory, right? Smilex?" Willy continued.

Charlie and Mrs. Bucket both nodded.

"It's almost five," Willy stated, glancing at a pocket watch that he appeared to pull out of thin air. "I'll need to meet him at their gates."

"Then you have time to change into something dry and, this time, you will put a coat on," Mrs. Bucket said firmly.

Willy looked at her nervously. "'Kay," he gave in, supposing it would only take a few minutes and not wanting to argue. He considered the request. In order to put dry clothes on, he would need to go into his living quarters, but then the Buckets would know where they were. Did it matter if they knew? Willy wasn't sure about anything at the moment. He didn't think he'd mind if they were staying. He'd show them the entire factory if they were staying! But they weren't or were they? They no longer had a home and so he supposed they would stay at least until that got sorted out. Maybe they would stay after that too? That would be . . . nice. _Ah ha! I can get dry clothes from one of the factory rooms._ Well, he could get clean work clothes and he thought he remembered a shirt in the peppermint room. "I'll be back in a jiff." He nodded and showed them a counterfeit grin. "Yeah."

Willy practically ran from his office to the elevator. He leaned against the back wall with a huge sigh as the doors slid closed. There was something else he needed to do. Oh yeah, let the Oompa-Loompas know about his guests. They'd have to stay away from the executive area and entranceway until he found out what the Buckets were going to do. There was no reason for the tribe to show themselves if they were going to be gone in a few weeks. He turned around and pushed the button for the cocoa forest. The elevator jerked in a new direction, zigzagging through the factory as it dropped lower.

Richard and Doris, along with several other Oompa-Loompas, were waiting anxiously for him as he stepped out. He waved at them. "Hi guys. Big news!" Willy switched to Oompish so he could be positively sure that everyone understood what he was saying. "Charlie and his m-m-mo . . ." Darn it! He couldn't even sign the word. "Charlie and Mrs. Bucket are in my office." He nodded as the Oompa-Loompas began to talk to each other in excitement. "A tornado has destroyed their home."

"Awww," the Oompa-Loompas responded, saddened by the news.

"I don't know how long they'll be staying so you'll just have to keep out of executive row and the front hall for now."

Dr. Luke frowned at the news. He and Edmund exchanged concerned looks. They didn't like loosing full access to their patient. Edmund touched their chief on the shoulder and signed urgently.

Richard nodded and turned to Willy. "We don't believe that's a good idea, Dear Heart. It would be best just to let the Buckets meet us and continue as usual."

"No," Willy shook his head stubbornly. "It wouldn't be safe for them to know about you guys. What if they accidentally told someone else? It's best to avoid that possibility. I don't want you to get hurt or something."

"What if they stay permanently?" Doris signed her question.

"Then we'll let them know," Willy responded promptly, "but only if they're staying. Now, everybody can go back to work if they want, but remember what I said about executive row and the front. No one go in there. I have to go change into something dry and find Mr. Bucket." He rubbed his right wrist as he finished the gestured words.

Dr. Luke cleared his throat. "Willy, what's wrong with your wrist?"

"I banged it in the elevator. It's nothing. I'll come to your office later so you can take a look at it, 'kay? I really need to reach Mr. Bucket before he tries to go home. He'd be scared to death if he found them gone!" He knew full well the feeling of having your heart drop when finding everything you counted on in life was just gone in the proverbial blink of an eye.

Edmund nodded and signed his agreement with Willy to Dr. Luke. It would be a terrible shock for the poor man if he thought his family had been killed when their home was destroyed. An injured wrist could wait for just a little while.

The physician sighed and nodded in resignation. "Agreed. How will you get there?"

"Well, I don't think I'll take the elevator out again. It did great, but I don't need the speed and somebody might see it. I guess I'll just walk."

"What about one of the motorized bikes?" Edmund signed.

"Hey! That's a great idea!" Willy smiled brightly, only to frown an instant later. "No, wait, the logo is on all of them."

"Leave that to us, Willy," Edmund smiled as he gestured smoothly. "We'll have a larger one at the front entrance before you get there."

"Okay," Willy turned back to the elevator.

"Don't forget to wear your jacket and helmet," Dr. Luke warned sternly.

"Don't forget spares for Mr. Bucket," Willy responded. He almost smacked into the elevator doors, only just stopping himself. With a strained giggle, he pushed the button to open them and pressed the button for the peppermint room. He found his shirt, clean coveralls and a towel. He swiftly changed and gratefully began drying his hair as best he could. The chocolatier sighed in relief as he returned to executive row. He paused only long enough to stick his head in the door of his office to make sure Charlie and Mrs. Bucket were doing all right. "Is everything okay in here?"

"Yes, Willy," Mrs. Bucket answered for both of them. Her son was lying on the floor, giggling as the kitten walked on his stomach.

"Good, I'll be back as soon as I can with Mr. Bucket. 'Kay?"

Mrs. Bucket nodded gratefully in relief.

Willy closed the door, only to open it again a second later. "There should be some string in the bottom-most right hand drawer, Charlie."

"Okay, thanks Willy!" The boy waved to his friend.

Willy closed the door and headed down the hall. He stopped at a seldom used closet and rummaged around it, finally pulling out an old black leather motorcycle jacket and a bicycle helmet. He hurried down the steps and outside, only to stop in shock as he saw the 'motorized bike' the Oompa-Loompas had left. He stared with his mouth rounded in surprise as he took in the gleaming, rain streaked lines of his old black, purple and red motorcycle. Before he'd closed the factory, he had ridden it many times from one end of the complex to the other when he was in a hurry. He shook his head and turned back around to fetch his motorcycle helmet. The one he was wearing just would not provide the proper protection.

**- W - C - F -**

The candy maker had been a bit shaky at first when he started the motorcycle, until he discovered he still knew how to handle it. The fine-tuned machine purred quietly as he drove out of the gates, hoping nobody would see him leave or return with a passenger. He had always thought it silly to have a roaring engine interfere with the pleasure of traveling down a quiet country road. He reached the gates to the Smilex factory ten minutes early and braced the softly rumbling motorcycle upright with his legs as he waited anxiously for the workers to leave. He hoped he spotted Mr. Bucket quickly. It would not do to miss him, not at all. Maybe he should go in and ask for him? As he wavered back and forth on actually doing it, the factory's whistle yanked him from his thoughts. He straightened up and scanned the exodus of people for a familiar face. "Mr. Bucket!" Willy waved his arm as he thought he spotted the other man.

Startled, Harry Bucket turned to see who was calling his name.

One of the other workers jostled his arm. "Hanging out at biker's bars, Harry?"

"Huh? Uh, no, no, I'm not." Puzzled, Mr. Bucket worked his way against the tide of his co-workers to reach the biker. "Mister . . .?"

Willy shook his head and muffled a stressed, high-pitched laugh. "It's me, Mr. Bucket."

"Will . . . Er, what are you doing here?"

"Picking you up," Willy responded as he checked around to see who might be listening to them. "There, um, Mrs. Bucket and Charlie are at my place."

"**Your** place!" Mr. Bucket wasn't sure what surprised him more, that the secretive chocolatier had actually allowed someone inside his factory or the fact he was wearing a leather jacket and riding a motorcycle. "Why?"

"Uh, big swirly wind storm," he nodded and made a circling gesture, "tornado. I thought they'd be safer in, er, my place." He nodded again for emphasis.

_Tornado!_ "Are they all right?" Mr. Bucket unconsciously grabbed hold of Willy's jacket sleeve in worry and fear.

"Yeah," Willy nodded again and would have tried to smile, except he realized Mr. Bucket couldn't see his face while he wore the helmet. He twisted slightly to get the leather jacket and motorcycle helmet strapped behind him. "Here, let's get going, 'kay?" He offered the items to Mr. Bucket.

"Okay." Harry hurriedly pulled off his coat and pulled on the jacket, understanding that a long coat was not the wisest apparel for riding a motorcycle. Willy immediately bundled it up and strapped it to the back while the other man awkwardly fastened the helmet. He climbed on behind Willy and tentatively wrapped his arms around him.

"Hold tighter," Willy instructed as he revved the surprisingly quiet engine. They left the sweet scent of chocolate behind as he guided the cycle through the pouring rain.

Harry Bucket had, when he was far younger, wanted a motorcycle. He never imagined his first ride would be clinging to a reclusive candy man who didn't liked to be touched. He might have found it more exhilarating if he hadn't been so worried about Harriet and Charlie. He knew Willy would not lie about something so important. If he said that they were all right, then they were. His heart would not, could not accept that until he had them safely in his arms.

The large motorcycle purred unnoticed through the big gates of the chocolate factory which had opened upon their approach. They began to close as soon as it was safely through. Willy braked to a stop in front of the doors. Mr. Bucket climbed off, ran up the steps and yanked a door open. He stopped once he was inside, unsure of which way to go. He didn't have to worry for long as Willy quickly entered behind him.

"This way," Willy said, indicating the open stairwell to left. "They're in my office." Mr. Bucket followed hard on Willy's heels as he led him upstairs and down the hallway. The chocolatier opened one door and let the anxious man to go inside first. He paused there, watching the emotional reunion as the little family hugged each other. Feeling like an intruder, he withdrew, mumbling something about getting quarters ready for them. He knew it didn't matter because none of the Buckets had eyes or ears for anything except each other. At this moment, the entire tribe of Oompa-Loompas could have danced and sung around the Buckets and they would have remained oblivious.


	32. Chapter 31 Welcome to the Factory!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 31 - Welcome to the Factory!**

The Buckets hugged each other tightly for several moments. Finally, Oriana's plaintive demands for attention brought them back to an awareness of their surroundings. Charlie bent down to pick up the kitten. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket stared at each other, totally uncertain of what to do. Where would they stay? How would they survive? The loss of their home was an overwhelming event. It was the only home that Charlie had ever known and had been their home for a very long time. In the span of a few minutes, it was gone.

While his parents stared at each other, deeply concerned about the family's future, Charlie, reassured by their presence and the warmth of the factory, turned around to examine his surroundings curiously. He stepped over to one wall and looked at the large painting of the factory hanging on it with a great deal of interest. He scratched his head in puzzlement and then scratched behind Oriana's ears just because she seemed to enjoy it. The painting seemed . . . off somehow. He compared it to his memory of the chocolate factory and realized that a few details were different from what he remembered. _Why?_ The boy turned around, looking for the factory's owner so he could ask. "Where's Willy?"

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket both jumped at the question.

"I don't know, Charlie," Mr. Bucket answered. He walked over to his son's side and picked him up, hugging him tightly. He felt a surge of warm gratitude as he thought about the candy maker. Willy, possibly imperiling his own life, had gone out into the storm and rescued his family. He could never, ever repay the man for that single heroic act. He returned his son to his feet and ruffled his hair affectionately when the kitten mewed a complaint.

The door opened slightly and Willy peeked inside, feeling rather timid. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me," the candy maker called, "I have your living quarters ready."

"Living . . .?" Mrs. Bucket began.

"Quarters?" Mr. Bucket finished.

The couple exchanged surprised looks.

"Yes," Willy nodded, "this way." He opened the door further and gestured for them to follow.

"Willy?" Charlie quickly called the inquiry to his friend. "Why is this picture of the factory different? From the factory, I mean."

The owner blinked at the question, before stepping over to stand at the boy's side. "It's the concept painting for the chocolate factory." He smiled fondly as he looked up at it. "A few details were changed while it was being built, but I think we did quite well. Don't you?"

"Yes!" Charlie responded enthusiastically. He thought the factory was grand and wonderful. "Who painted it?" He asked as Willy led them out into the hallway.

"I did." It had been far easier than anything else he had painted later, because it was straight from his imagination. He'd long known exactly where every line, corner and shadow belonged. The candy man led the little family down the hall past a pair of dark doors that were all straight lines. He stopped at another pair of carved doors. These had a reddish tint and were made from aged cherry wood. He opened them and gestured for the Buckets to precede him inside. "I trust you will find your quarters adequate," he said anxiously as they looked around the long sitting room. "There are two bedrooms," he pointed to doors on opposite ends of the main room. He gestured to the back and right, "and a full kitchen." He paused for a moment, his head tilted to one side. "Oh, and both bedrooms have their own bathroom." _Is that everything?_ He sincerely hoped so. _Am I forgetting anything?_ "Oh yes! I've already stocked the pantry and refrigerator. If there is anything else you need, please let me know," Willy finished, anxiously addressing Mrs. Bucket.

The Buckets were staring at the room in awe. The walls were a pale green which contrasted beautifully with the cherry wood furniture. Large windows graced the expanse of the back wall, window seats running their length until they reached the eating nook which led to a bar separating the kitchen from the room. To the left of the doors was a set of shelves with several beautiful ceramic and porcelain curios, carved wooden and stone statues, and a small stereo system. To the right was a tiled and marbled fireplace. The brass appointments of the fireplace gleamed in the room's light. Incidental tables were scattered around the room, a few of them holding ornate vases full of fresh cut flowers. There was a large dark green sofa, comfortably overstuffed, in front of the fireplace, with a long cocktail table of etched glass. End tables sat on either side of the sofa, separating it from the matching recliners. Brass reading lamps curved gracefully behind the end tables, ready to shed their light in the perfect location. Spirals of ivy were carved around the legs and arms of the various pieces of furniture. Ivy leaves were engraved in the glass of the table. Cherry wood ceiling fans hung suspended above with glass bells for the lights overhead. It was a beautiful room, warm and welcoming.

Willy looked around considering everything. "I suggest Charlie take that room," he pointed to the left, "and you take that room." He pointed to the right. He leaned forward to whisper in Mr. and Mrs. Bucket's ears with a giggle. "It has the larger bathroom." He left them to explore their new bedroom together, taking Charlie to his.

"Do you like it?" Willy asked nervously as a minute passed without comment.

Charlie nodded, speechless with wonder. The room was a delight. The walls were a light blue. The bed was the largest he had ever seen and very bouncy. It was covered with a bright blue comforter and several pillows of different shades of blue. There was a chest of drawers and a cedar chest that looked like a pirate's treasure chest. On one side of the room were sliding doors leading to a large walk-in closet. "It's too much!"

"Nonsense," Willy exclaimed. "Here, look at the bathroom." He opened a door and let Charlie walk in first. He almost laughed at the look on the boy's face. "Look! It's a jetted tub. It feels great after a long, hard day." He nodded at Charlie, having no doubt the boy had faced many such days in the past. There was also a large shower as well. Light and bright yellow tiles alternated to cover the floor and half way up the walls. The rest of the walls and the ceiling were painted a buttery cream color.

"Maybe Mom and Dad should have this room," Charlie offered, overwhelmed. The bed alone had enough room for a dozen boys his size.

"No, their bathroom's bigger." His eyes twinkled merrily as he left it at that. The chocolatier led the way back out to the common room where they found Charlie's parents. "Do you like it? Is it big enough?" he asked.

"Big enough?" Mr. Bucket looked stunned at the question.

"Willy, it's very nice," Mrs. Bucket informed their host, "and you should know it is more," she hesitated before continuing, "room than we're used to having."

"There's a gold button on the outside of the shower. When you press it, you'll get a ten minute shower exactly." Willy nodded. "You'll have to set it at the temperature you like and then it will remember it the next time you use it." He smiled at his friend. "You have one too, Charlie. I find it most handy when I'm in a hurry." He stopped and tried to think if there was anything else.

Charlie sat on the edge of the sofa and looked around curiously. He wondered what they could do. There wasn't even a television. Maybe he could see some of the factory. Would Willy be willing to show him? Did he dare ask?

"Now, I must ask that you don't wander around," Willy stated firmly as if reading the boy's mind. "It would be very easy to get lost in the factory and some of the rooms are dangerous if you don't know what you're doing." He put a finger on his lips and thought some more. "Oh! You'll need something to sleep in!" He started to leave, pausing as another thought struck him. They would need something to fill their time. He knew it could be quite boring without work or anything else to fill the days and nights. He motioned for them to follow. "Come with me. I want to show you something!"

Curious, the Buckets trailed after Willy Wonka down to the end of the hallway. He opened the door there to reveal a large airy room. The walls were covered with golden oak bookshelves full of books from the floor to the high ceiling. A gleaming brass rail circled the room and a wheeled ladder was hooked to it, giving access to the books on the higher shelves. There were several desks, two with computers sitting on them, and chairs and small comfortable couches scattered around the open center. A large arched window filled one wall, with another cushioned window seat. A few potted trees were scattered around with the furniture. "This is the Factory Library." He indicated one computer. "If you take anything out of the room, just log it in there." He giggled in embarrassment. "Sometimes I forget I took something so it helps to remind me." He pointed to the other one. "That one has Internet access if you want to surf the web."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket stood still, taking in the wealth of books that surrounded them. Charlie went over to examine some of the lower shelves. "Harry Potter," he exclaimed, startled to find the popular series.

"Yes," Willy nodded, "I haven't read those yet. I have the movies too." He walked over to a door opposite the one they had entered and opened it. "This is the media library. You'll find lots of movies and music in here." A glance revealed a smaller version of the book library with shelves full of DVDs and CDs. "Let me show you the theater!" He looked around the room. "What would you like to watch?"

Charlie walked over and stared, feeling inundated as he saw titles for dozens of movies he had never seen. He wanted to watch all of them! He wanted to read all the popular books that he'd never had a chance to read. His mind spun with an overabundance of choices.

"Pick one!" Willy encouraged. His eyes warmed with understanding. He knelt beside Charlie and smiled gently. "They aren't going to disappear, Charlie. You'll have plenty of time to see and read everything."

Azure eyes stared into violet, a question rising in their depths.

"All the time in the world," Willy promised. "You can stay here as long as you need to or want to." He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Bucket; his eyes shone with yearning for friends, for an end to a loneliness and emptiness that not even his beloved Oompa-Loompas could fill. Willy felt such a devastating desire for a family that his broken heart felt as if it would surely and finally shatter completely. He shuttered his telltale eyes, hiding his keening wish, part of him knowing that it had to be the Buckets' decision, a choice that he shouldn't influence. His attention returned to the boy. "Now pick a movie. Go on!" He gently pushed the child toward the nearest shelves.

Charlie scanned the titles slowly, not wanting to overlook anything. He reached hesitantly as he came to the Harry Potter movies. Just before his fingers could touch the first volume, another title caught his eyes. He turned to the Fellowship of the Ring, only to be attracted by something else entirely. How was he to choose? His dazed eyes landed on a piece of paper tacked on the door. Curious, he read the heading - Recommended Viewing for Willy. _How odd_, he thought as he scanned the list, speculating at the wording. It was almost as if someone else had created it. Some of them had check marks, apparently indicating his friend had seen those. He came to a title without a mark and paused in thought. "That one," he pointed at the list, "can we watch that one?"

Startled, Willy turned to look at the list. He stood and considered where Charlie was pointing. To be certain, he pointed at a title. "That one?"

Charlie nodded and smiled at his friend. He watched as Willy walked over to the shelves and scanned them quickly and expertly. His lavender gloved hand plucked a DVD off of a nearby shelf. He handed it to the boy who grinned as he examined the cover.

"After dinner," Mrs. Bucket said firmly.

"Of course," Willy exclaimed, slightly alarmed. He suddenly realized something. The Oompa-Loompas weren't going to be able to feed the kitten. "Oh! I have to feed Oriana! I'll show you the theater after you've had supper, okay, Charlie?"

"Willy Wonka," Mrs. Bucket exclaimed, "you are joining us."

Willy's eyes widened in shock and he pointed uncertainly at himself.

"Yes, you," Mr. Bucket stated. "It's the least we can do since you've opened your home to us."

Willy chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "Isn't that what friends are suppose to do? Help each other?"

"Yes, Willy, it is," Mrs. Bucket answered gently. Mr. Bucket and Charlie nodded. "Now, you go feed Oriana. I should have dinner ready by the time you're done."

"Charlie, you want to help me?" Willy looked at the others. "It will be all right if he helps me with her, right?" It would also distract the boy from the loss of his home. He wondered if the Buckets would agree to let Oriana stay in the boy's new bedroom.

"Of course, Willy," Mr. Bucket responded promptly.

"Come on, Charlie," Willy led the way out of the library. He abruptly stopped, causing Charlie to bump into him. He stiffened slightly before looking back at Mrs. Bucket. "I'll bring fresh bread and a pie, 'kay?"

"Thank you, Willy," Mrs. Bucket smiled warmly at the slender man. "Thank you for everything," she finished fervently. Mr. Bucket nodded in concurrence with his wife. They owed so much to Willy Wonka today! How could they ever thank him for his brave actions and kind generosity?


	33. Chapter 32 Settling In

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 32 - Settling In**

Willy led Charlie back to his office. He shook his head as Oriana mewed loudly in complaint. "You're spoiled rotten. You know that, don't ya?" He told the kitten as he picked her up again. "Now, let's try drinking from a bowl again." He handed the kitten to Charlie before going to the counter. He removed a small porcelain bowl, placed it under a faucet and flipped it on. Warm milk filled the dish which he placed on a rubber mat. He gestured for Charlie to bring her over as he sat on the floor beside it.

"Now, let's see if you're ready to be a big girl," he said as Oriana rubbed against one of his legs. He dipped a gloved finger into the milk and held it in front of her mouth. She licked it eagerly. He repeated the movement, slowly leading her to the bowl. Soon, she was happily lapping up the warm milk. Willy smiled and sat up, feeling a relief at the end of using baby bottles to feed her. "I guess she is." He giggled, before rubbing his tired eyes. The day had been long, trying and tiring.

Charlie sat back on his heels watching the kitten. A particularly delicious aroma reached his nose and he inhaled deeply. "What is that?" It wasn't chocolate or candy.

Willy lifted his head and sniffed the air. Oops! He'd forgotten the turkey. "Uh, Charlie, can you keep a secret?" He asked, only to shake his head. "Of course, you can, but will you?"

Slightly startled, the boy nodded. "Yes," he responded with firm determination. He trusted Willy, trusted that he wouldn't ask him to keep something bad a secret the way some of the kids at school wanted their friends to do.

"Good." Willy stood up and went to a corner of the room. Aware of the bright, inquisitive eyes observing him, he pushed a spot on the wall. He opened the hidden door to his quarters and walked inside.

Curious, Charlie stood and went over to look inside. He was surprised to find a long bedroom with a kitchen at the other end. White walls rose to the tall ceiling. The floor was a mosaic of different colored woods laid in various interesting patterns of stars, leaves, nuts and flowers. In the very center of the room, they came together in a diminishing swirl with a compass rose as the heart. A high, massive maple wood bed sat with its lofty, curved headboard against the wall between two enormous windows. There was a small ladder like object on the footboard and a step beside the bed. The comforter looked very soft and wonderful with its blocks of chocolate brown, plum red and purple velvet. Plush window seats ran the length of the windows, covered with pillows of every size, shape and color.

Opposite the bed was a mantled fireplace with brass andirons and toolset. There was a massive painting over the mantle of a jungle. Firewood jutted rather comically from the mouth of a brass dragon. In front of the fireplace was a maple rocking chair with thick, plump cushions of royal blue and purple. There were tables scattered here and there, some were bare while others held various knick knacks or absently discarded items. One held an enormous cut crystal vase filled with flowers. It looked as if someone had gone through a flower shop and, without rhyme or reason, whimsically selected flowers of every color and bloom. On both sides of the fireplace were the slatted doors of walk-in closets.

It was, Charlie thought, an unusual yet decidedly warm and welcoming room. He hesitated in the doorway, before taking one small step inside. That was when he saw the wooden spiral staircase in the nearest corner leading up to the next floor. He wondered what was up there. Boxes were piled beside the staircase, which he found most odd. Why did Willy have cardboard boxes in his room? If he didn't know better, he would think the man was moving. This didn't make any sense at all since Willy Wonka would never, ever leave his factory. Could he be changing rooms? Or maybe he was redecorating?

Just then, Oriana brushed past, her tail sticking straight up in the air. "Hey! Come back here!" Charlie called softly and darted after the kitten. She bounded across a throw rug and batted at the covers on Willy's bed. Being a cat, she was very curious about her new surroundings and not at all interested in being captured by anyone, least of all, Charlie. She ran from him and stuck her nose into the unlit fireplace, weaving her way around the shiny brass andirons. As the boy chased her, he caught a glimpse of a black cast iron fireback with a unicorn design covering the rear wall of the fireplace.

Oriana's progress was halted when she was swooped up by a purple gloved hand. "And where do you think you're going?" Willy asked her. He grinned as she mewed in protest and squirmed, wanting to get down and continue her explorations. "I think not." He smiled at his breathless friend. "Your turkey is coming along quite nicely," he informed the boy.

Charlie smiled shyly back. He looked around, unsure of what to say or do. Should he even be in Willy's room?

"Do you like my quarters?" Willy asked which reassured Charlie tremendously.

"Yes, they're very nice!" The boy went over to a nearby table attracted by a bronze statue of a unicorn. He stared at the jeweled eyes which matched Willy's almost exactly. He turned around and looked at the boxes again. "What are the boxes for?" He asked innocently.

Willy's face turned grim and he shook his head. "They're stuff from my dad's." He frowned sternly at them as if offended by their presence. "I need to go through them, but I haven't had time."

"Oh," Charlie responded in a tiny voice. Now he wished he hadn't asked. He remembered helping his mom and dad go through his grandparents' things. His mom had started to do it a hundred times while he was at school and his dad was at work, but always found reasons to put it off. They'd ended up doing it together which had seemed infinitely . . . better. They'd shared memories that different objects recalled, occasionally dissolving in tears or laughter. He looked up at his friend. "Would you like some help?"

Willy Wonka opened his mouth, about to say no. It was for him to do, not to bother someone else. His brow furrowed as he paused. "Why?"

Charlie dragged one foot across the floor, staring at it in seeming fascination. "Because it would be easier," he responded, before looking up earnestly at his friend. "It was easier for us, Mom and Dad and me, when we went through my grandparents' stuff together."

The candy maker's head tilted to the side and he contemplated the boy. "You don't know my fa-fa-dad."

"No, I don't," Charlie admitted, "I know you." He looked around and thought for a moment, about how Willy had given them things because he'd wanted to help, how he had allowed them in his factory. No one had been inside for longer than Charlie had been alive. And it was because Willy Wonka had decided to help them, to protect them, to be their friend. He remembered dragging Willy home when he was sick. "It's what friends do for each other."

"Oh." It was Willy's turn to think and think hard he did. He stared up at the painting over his mantle, the one he'd made from his memories of Loompaland. He remembered how he had invited the Oompa-Loompas to come to his factory to live and work. He remembered all the things he had done so they could do so and live in peace. He had talked to people, strangers, a lot for him, convincing them, persuading them, urging them to allow it. All that red tape and work because he wanted to help those small people, because he'd come to think of them as friends. He'd done all that, even though his reclusive nature had hated it, because he wanted to help the little tribe. Friendship. "Okay," he agreed shyly. "We'll work on it Saturday when you're out of school."

"Willy, school's out until Monday," Charlie informed him.

One brow arched in surprise. _Monday?_

"Holiday," the boy reminded him.

Willy giggled. "Oh, yeah. Thanksgiving!"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded with a faint smile.

Willy giggled again, only to frown as he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He pulled a face at the way he looked. It certainly was not appropriate for dining with friends. This would never do! "I need to change. I'll be quick." He looked at the excited kitten in his hand and carried her back to his office to return Oriana to her playpen. She mewed and managed to look totally miffed as he returned to his quarters.

Charlie watched curiously as Willy searched his closets for a fresh change of clothing. He noted the various coats and the row of hat boxes on the shelf above. The chocolatier selected a violet frockcoat and hung it inside his bathroom. He flipped through the shirts in his other closet, before selecting a black silk jacquard shirt, black pants and vest. He grabbed fresh underwear and a pair of socks from one of his dresser's drawers. Charlie smiled faintly as Willy vanished into the bathroom and he heard the shower come on. Willy, he knew, must be taking one of those ten minute showers. He couldn't blame him for wanting one.

The boy contemplated the painting over Willy's fireplace as he waited. He blinked as he spotted what looked like walkways running between the trees in a clearing, going back and forth from ball shaped objects hanging from the trees. Were those houses? They resembled wasps' nests or coconuts, but there appeared to be little round doors and windows. Where had Willy gotten the idea for them? They were most peculiar. Stranger still, he got the impression of faces peering out of those windows and doors. Who were they? Was this Loompaland? Did he dare ask? Maybe he would. His stomach growled at him. He put his hand on his tummy and bit his lip to stop a giggle. He'd question Willy sometime when they weren't fixing to go eat dinner.

The factory owner came out of his bathroom as he shrugged on his coat. He looked very dapper, much more like himself in Charlie's estimation. He returned to his closet and brought down a hat box. A top hat with a band matching his coat was removed and was placed with careful precision on slightly damp locks. Willy grinned at Charlie. "That's much better!" Charlie nodded in agreement.

Willy went to his kitchen, the boy trailing behind. He wrapped a fresh loaf of bread in a cloth and handed it to him. "You take this." He flinched slightly as his wrist twinged at him, when he picked up the pie. "I hope you like apple pie." _I have to remember to see Dr. Luke!_

Charlie nodded eagerly. Apple pie sounded delicious and it certainly smelled it.

The factory owner giggled suddenly as he thought of something. "Ice cream!" Willy opened his refrigerator and inspected the items in the large freezer section. He removed a half-gallon of Wonka's vanilla ice cream and placed both items in a basket, before leading the way to his office. He paused long enough to close the door to his quarters and then the two friends walked down the hallway to Charlie's new home

Willy started to knock with the head of his cane, but Charlie pushed in front and opened the door. He gestured for Willy to follow him inside. The candy maker's eyes lowered slightly as he heard Mr. and Mrs. Bucket talking in the kitchen. The only clear words were 'leave', 'Willy' and 'privacy'. It jarred him and made his heart flutter in a most peculiar way. He didn't want them to leave! And he most certainly didn't have any privacy anyway, not with the way his workers gossiped about everything he did. With an effort, he pasted a huge smile on his face as he removed his hat and followed Charlie to the eating nook and kitchen.

**- W - C - F -**

Dinner was relatively quiet. Willy finally decided to broach the subject of Oriana. However long the Buckets stayed or didn't stay, right now, Charlie needed the distraction and warmth she represented. He smiled brightly. "Delicious pasta, Mrs. Bucket!"

"Thank you, Willy."

"Um, I was thinking." Mr. and Mrs. Bucket looked at the candy maker, waiting patiently for him to continue. "It would be a, uh, really big help to me if Charlie looked after Oriana." He nodded to the Buckets. "Yeah. We could move her playpen and stuff into his room and he could keep an eye on her." He nodded again as enthusiastically as he could. "If he has any questions or needs any help with her, he can come see me, 'kay?"

Charlie smiled at his parents. "Could I? Please, Mom, Dad, I'll take really good care of her," he promised.

"Well," Mr. Bucket looked at his wife, willing to defer to her judgment. She was the one who would be there the most.

"Oh, we can put her back in my office while Charlie's in school," Willy offered quickly, just in case that was an issue. After all, if they didn't, Mrs. Bucket might think she would have to look after her.

Mrs. Bucket picked up her napkin and laid it back down in her lap. She smoothed the linen out and considered the request. It didn't take long to decide with two pairs of bright eyes staring at her, pleading. "All right, we'll give it a try, but you have to take very good care of Oriana for Willy. You'll have to feed her, brush her and clean up after her, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie nodded.

Willy smiled brightly, happy with the response. He just knew Oriana would be good for Charlie, maybe for Mrs. Bucket and Mr. Bucket as well.

"Willy, now we have a favor to ask," Mr. Bucket stated, exchanging glances with his wife. He cleared his throat. "Would you be willing to look after Charlie, tomorrow that is, if . . . " How could he say this? He tried to find the words to explain. "What I mean is, if the rain has stopped tomorrow?"

Willy interrupted. "Oh yes, it should just be overcast and more," he reached over and placed his hand on the nearest window pane, "seasonal temperatures tomorrow."

"Good," Mrs. Bucket responded, trying to keep her tone even and upbeat. "We need to see if we can salvage anything, so I hope you won't mind keeping an eye on Charlie."

"We know you're a busy man, but," Mr. Bucket started.

"Nonsense, I don't mind at all. I have a lot of paperwork to do and I'm sure Charlie and I can keep ourselves occupied." He hid his sadness at the thought of how the older Buckets would be spending their time tomorrow. It was heartbreaking really. He reached into a pocket and searched around for something. "Here," he placed a ball chain necklace with a coin like object attached into Charlie's hand. He passed others to Mr. and Mrs. Bucket. "Hold the token between your hands until it gets warm," he instructed.

Puzzled, the Buckets did as he requested.

"These will allow you, and only you, to enter the side gate," Willy waved a hand to demonstrate, "the left side gate. Once they're warm, they'll be fully activated and won't work for anyone else ever." He nodded. "Just wear them under your clothes. The sensors will detect it and unlock the gate, unless someone else is with you. They'll know if someone without a token is there and won't work then. Try not to come in or go out when somebody is, well, right there watching. Okay?" He giggled. "You'll be surprised how people won't notice you if you do it right. They don't expect it so they don't see you."

Charlie examined the coin he was holding. One side had a stylized, intertwined WW that was not at all like the familiar Wonka logo. The other side had a head in profile of a man with a funny, swirled top knot in his hair, a slightly hooked nose and a sharply defined widow's peak on his forehead. "He looks like the little men that were on my window," he commented. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement as they checked their own tokens.

Willy frowned in bewilderment. "What little men?"

"You know," Charlie looked up at his friend, startled, "the ones in the top picture of the window you put in my room." Surely Willy knew about them. He was the one who had put it in. "The one where you were standing on the grassy bridge over a chocolate river and had all the funny looking plants."

"Ah, of course," Mr. Bucket exclaimed, he looked at his wife. "It wasn't polluted. It was chocolate."

Mrs. Bucket nodded her understanding.

"Little men, me, chocolate river, plants" Willy mumbled under his breath, "why those mischievous little . . ." He trailed off as he realized the Buckets were staring at him. "Hee, oh, that. Of course, I . . . forgot, sort of." He quickly took a bite of bread so he couldn't say anything else and glowered at his plate as he chewed slowly. He obviously needed to have a long talk with the Oompa-Loompas. That had been a very foolish thing to do! Then he started to get mad at himself, he should have looked at the window first, he should have seen what they'd done!

Mrs. Bucket stood up and picked up her plate. "Is everyone ready for dessert?" They all nodded. Willy started to stand up to help, but she waved him back down. "You stay there. I'll get it." She quickly collected the dirty dishes and returned with a stack of small plates, the pie and ice cream. Once everyone had a slice of pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, she sat again and savored a bite. "It's delicious, Willy! You're an excellent baker." The others nodded in silent enthusiasm, their mouths full.

Wonka blushed faintly at the praise. "Thank you. Cooking and baking relaxes me." He took a small bite of his own, testing the various flavors, wondering what he could do to improve the recipe.

Once they finished, Willy stood and bowed to the others. "Thank you for that fine meal. I'll leave you to get settled in now."

Charlie looked up and frowned. "I thought we were going to watch that movie."

Willy's hand flew to his mouth. "Oops, I forgot. I'll show you the theater and you can enjoy yourselves."

"I thought you would watch it with us," Charlie said, his eyes narrowing. He wondered if Willy was trying to get away from them for some reason.

Violet eyes widened. "Uh, yeah, it's just I have some stuff I need to take care of first." He pulled out his pocket watch and snapped it open. "Um, how about I meet you in half an hour? Will that be okay?"

"All right," Mrs. Bucket answered for them. "That will give me time to get the dishes in the washer." She was faintly amused by the statement, having thought she would never have a dishwasher besides herself, Mr. Bucket and Charlie.

"What about Oriana?" Charlie asked as he stood up.

"Come on, we'll get her moved in first," Willy said, gesturing for the boy to follow.

Happy with that answer, Charlie bounced over to join his friend as he collected his hat. He listened, bemused, as he heard Willy muttering to himself. "They'll need clothes to sleep in and what else do I need to do? Fuss and bother, I really should make a list." They hurried down the hallway, Willy's anxiously tapping cane muffled by the carpet.

"Before we get Oriana's things, let me get some pajamas for your . . . mom and dad and a shirt for you, short stuff," Willy said as they entered his office.

Charlie nodded and waited patiently as Willy went back into his quarters to fetch the items. He returned shortly with a small pile of clothes and a pale lilac teddy bear. Charlie's brow furrowed. "What's that for?"

"I thought you might like to sleep with her, tonight."

"I'm not a baby," Charlie protested.

"Neither am I," Willy responded in a huff, pulling himself up straight and as tall as he could. "Her name is Malia and I find she helps keep nightmares away." He held her toward the boy. "Here, smell her."

Charlie cautiously eased forward and sniffed at the offered bear. A pleasant, slightly sweet aroma filled him. He felt a knot ease that he hadn't even realized was there. "What is it?"

"Lavender and vanilla," Willy responded. "They're very soothing and calming." He shook the teddy slightly. "Go on, take her."

Charlie's hands reached out and accepted the plush toy without a conscious decision on his part. He gently stroked the soft fur. "What's it made out of?" He hadn't ever felt anything like that. It rivaled Oriana's fur for softness.

"Wool," Willy answered, he really didn't want to give up Malia, but he knew Charlie needed her more than he did. He was a grownup and Charlie was still just a little boy. He'd just have to deal with his own anxieties without her this time. "Now, how are we going to do this?" He contemplated Oriana in her playpen, her toys and things beside it. He held the pile of clothes out to Charlie. "Here, you take these," Willy walked over and picked up the kitten, "and her." He gave the kitten to the boy who struggled to hold the wiggling kitten, the clothes and teddy bear while the man quickly piled the rest of the kitten's things into her playpen. He picked it up and smiled brightly. "Let's go!"

"Willy!" Charlie called, anxiously, as he almost dropped the little animal.

"What?" Willy turned back to look. He smothered his amusement as he set the playpen down and went to collect Oriana. "Are you going to behave?" He asked the kitten holding her in front of his face. With a slight shrug, he deposited her on his shoulder. Tiny claws dug into the soft fabric, as she contemplated her change in height. A tentative paw reached out to bat at Willy's hair as he bent to pick up her playpen. He followed Charlie back to the Bucket's living quarters.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket stifled their amusement as they watched the kitten clinging to Wonka's shoulder play with his hair. She was getting quite excited over her new 'toy'. Willy rolled his eyes as Charlie gave his parents the pajamas. He followed the boy into his bedroom. Charlie placed the oversized (for him) tee shirt on his bed along with Malia.

"Where should I put her?" Willy asked.

Charlie turned to look around and wondered what to say. He pointed to a spot near the bed. "There?"

Willy nodded and set the playpen down. He pulled out her things and placed them beside it, before pulling the kitten from his shoulder. "Boy, you sure don't know how to be good, do ya?" He asked her. He smirked as she mewed and squirmed in his gentle grip. A little tongue flicked out to kiss his nose. "Silly, that's not going to make it up to me." He placed her in the playpen. "I'll be back in two shakes," he told Charlie. "Why don't you find a book in the library while I'm gone?"

"Okay," Charlie agreed. That did sound like a good idea.

Willy started to leave, only to turn back. "Don't forget to check it out on the computer, 'kay?"

"Right," the boy nodded, hoping he could figure out how to do that. He hadn't had much experience with them and neither had his parents.

Willy nodded and quickly left, heading straight for the elevator. He had a bone or two to pick with his employees, he needed to get his visit to Dr. Luke over with and the Buckets were going to need more clothes for tomorrow. As the glass elevator's doors slid closed, he hoped he had thought of everything. Maybe the Oompa-Loompas could suggest anything he'd forgotten.


	34. Chapter 33 Movie Night

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 33 - Movie Night**

Willy Wonka frowned in warning at the giggling bunch of Oompa-Loompas when he'd confronted them. The harder he tried to explain why what they had done was wrong, the more they giggled. "What if they figured out it showed something real?" He asked plaintively. "You could be in danger!"

"Willy," Richard spoke gently, "the Buckets would not do anything to harm us. They are good people."

"Not the Buckets, but what if they said someone to something else." He stamped his foot in frustration. "Something to someone else! You don't know what bad people can do and there are too many of them." Willy knew that all too well. He shivered as he remembered the spies. He shook visibly as he remembered other things as well. He sat on the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Edmund patted Willy on the leg, deeply concerned about him. The chocolatier was more than just a patient; he was a very dear friend. He frowned and shook his head slightly in warning to the others. He knew, better than anyone except Luke, that Willy had secrets he had never shared. Dark secrets had warped his life in ways none of them could imagine. The clues were there for them alone and their speculations were dreadful enough. He could only hope that Willy would one day open up and share his worst memories with someone for then and only then could his heart truly heal.

The other Oompa-Loompas took heed of Edmund's warning and tried to look contrite. "We're sorry, Willy, we should have asked first," Richard said sincerely. They all crossed their arms and bowed deeply to their employer and friend in apology.

"Are the Buckets staying?" Doris signed her question.

"I don't know." Willy suddenly looked very tired and sad. "I don't think so."

Several members of the tribe exchanged telling looks. They needed to find a way to convince the little family to stay. Edmund hastily made a gesture to cool it. Their discussions had to wait and he wasn't sure that going behind Willy's back so soon was a good idea.

Dr. Luke spoke up quickly. "May I check your wrist?"

"Yeah," Willy nodded to his physician. "That's one of the reasons I came down here. I don't have a lot of time though. The Buckets are expecting me back soon."

"Oh?" Dr. Luke looked curious at that statement.

"Uh, yeah, I'm going to show them the theater and we're going to watch a movie."

"Which movie?" A chorus of Oompa-Loompas asked and they all giggled madly. Willy Wonka watching a movie was an event, something he seldom did since he usually preferred reading.

Willy smiled smugly. "You will all just have to guess, 'cause I'm not saying. Yeah." He didn't often have an opportunity to put something pass the tribe and was going to take full advantage of it now.

"Ahhhh," the Oompa-Loompas groaned in disappointment.

"And no sneaking or peaking!" Willy admonished. "You promised to stay out of executive row, you know."

Realizing they weren't going to get any more news, most of the Oompa-Loompas dispersed, leaving a handful standing around the man seated on the ground. "Do we need to do anything for the Buckets?" Richard asked.

"I was just coming to that," Willy admitted. "They're going to need fresh clothes for tomorrow." His friends all nodded in agreement. He tapped his head in thought. "I've given Malia to Charlie. He's probably going to need her."

"What about you, Dear Heart?" Edmund signed, anxiously.

"I'm an adult. I'll just have to handle it." Willy nodded. "Charlie's just a little boy. Oriana is staying in his room. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket agreed that he could help me by looking after her. She should help distract him."

"Oriana?" Richard looked puzzled. Who was Oriana?

"Oh! I didn't tell you guys. I named the kitten Oriana."

"That's a beautiful name," Doris signed. "What does it mean?"

"Golden and dawn," Willy answered. "I don't know what her caretakers did, but she is spoiled absolutely rotten though."

"I'll find out," Richard responded.

"Thank you. Now, have I forgotten anything the Buckets are going to need?"

"Mr. Bucket will need to call his employer so they will know he will be absent and why. He doesn't need to lose his job on top of everything else," Richard stated.

Willy's eyes widened. "You're right! I didn't even think of that." He looked at Doris. "Do I have a phone? I mean an outside line phone?"

Doris nodded. "Which quarters have you given the Buckets?"

"The Ivy Suite."

"That phone is located in the round ornamental box on the shelves. There are cards with the number for the suite inside with it."

Willy's head tilted to one side. "It has its own phone number?"

"All the suites have their own phone numbers, including yours, Willy," was the exasperated response.

"Oh." He giggled. "I guess I forgot." He hesitated a moment. "Where's my phone?"

"Willy!" The chorus came from the male Oompa-Loompas.

"Your personal phone is in the gryphon box," Doris informed him. "Your business phone is on your desk. It's the large Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight."

"That's a phone?"

Doris shook her head. Obviously, they needed to use the phone to call Willy more often, instead of drumming for him. "We'll give you a replacement that looks like a phone." Seeing her employer start to pout, she patted his knee fondly. "An antique style phone?"

Willy nodded in agreement. "With wood?"

"Would you like a purplewood and brass telephone?" Richard asked. He remembered there was some of the unusual wood in the factory workshop and Willy was extremely fond of purple. He'd be less likely to toss it in the trash in frustration if it was something he actually liked.

"Okay!" He looked at his small friends. "Is there anything else the Buckets will need?"

"We will have clothes ready for them first thing in the morning. We'll send them up in the elevator. You can tell Mr. Bucket about the phone tonight so he can call early."

"Make sure they know about the laundry chutes," Doris signed.

Willy nodded obediently. "I'll do that. Now, if we're done, I've got to get back."

"Willy, exam!" Dr. Luke reminded his patient.

"Oh yeah. Sorry."

"I will email a list if we think of anything else," Doris told Willy as he stood to follow his physician to his office and exam room. She waited until the pair was out of sight. "We need to make another teddy bear for Charlie so Willy can have Malia back."

Richard nodded in agreement. He frowned in concern. "That will take at least two days, maybe three."

**- W - C - F -**

Willy tilted his head and looked down at Dr. Luke. "They're talking about me, aren't they?"

"Probably," the Oompa-Loompa admitted. "Does it really bother you that much?"

The man heaved a deep sigh. "I guess not. I just wish sometimes that they'd find a new topic for awhile. You know?"

Dr. Luke chuckled. "I know." He gestured for Willy to sit on the full size exam bed, before climbing up to join him. "I should x-ray this," he frowned slightly as he gently probed Willy's right wrist.

"It's not broken," Willy protested, only to pause and consider it, "I think."

"And how would you know if it was or wasn't?" Dr. Luke asked, considering his patient.

The chocolatier sniffed. "I have had broken bones before. Besides, I didn't hit anything hard enough to break it."

"There could be a hairline fracture."

Willy shook his head. "Bruised, maybe a minor sprain, but I doubt it." He flinched as the doctor found a particularly tender spot. "Ow."

"X-rays," Dr. Luke said firmly, "then I will wrap it and you can get back to your guests. If it needs to be casted, I'll let you know tomorrow."

Willy pulled a face at those words. He did not want a cast on his wrist! They were dreadfully uncomfortable. "What about using a brace instead?"

Dr. Luke's eyes narrowed in deliberation. "Will you wear it now?"

Willy Wonka tilted his head and stared at the far wall, pondering his response. He finally nodded in agreement. "All right." Anything to get out of a cast!

"Outside of your glove or inside," Dr. Luke asked.

"Inside, please!" Willy didn't really want to do that. It would be less comfortable, but it would also be a lot less noticeable if it was covered by his glove, shirt and coat sleeves. He didn't want to give the Buckets something else to worry about. "No sling though."

"No trying to pick up something heavy or using it while you're doing maintenance, nothing heavier than a pencil or eating utensil."

Willy nodded quickly. "Good thing I'm ambidextrous."

That brought another chuckle from the Oompa-Loompa. It was fascinating to watch Willy write on two stacks of papers simultaneously. He really didn't understand how the man could do it without getting confused.

Wonka slipped his purple glove off and studiously stared at Dr. Luke's wall as if his life depended on it while the Oompa-Loompa took the X-rays and then worked on fitting a brace on his wrist.

The physician shook his head. That was yet another mystery that Willy refused to explain to anyone. Why wouldn't he look at his own hands? The doctor examined the bare hand. The skin was pale, but no paler than the rest of the chocolatier. He hadn't always been that fair. He'd had a golden tan when they'd first met in Loompaland. He was already wearing gloves then, a strange combination of latex or rubber and leather. His tan had faded the longer the recluse remained inside his factory, unlike the Oompa-Loompas' darker complexion. It didn't explain why Willy refused to look at his hands. He, personally, thought they were fine hands with long, strong fingers, clever at doing so many things, gentle and tender when necessary. His small fingers encountered a slightly raised patch of skin, a small scar that was so faded as to be invisible. Willy had a lot of little scars on his hands and a few bigger ones. How he acquired them was also never discussed. Were the scars the reason? He didn't understand how they could be. They were virtually undetectable unless you really looked closely. Finishing his task, he looked up at his patient. "Done."

"Thank you," Willy responded as he glanced down to make sure of the way his glove laid. He looked up again as he slipped his hand inside of it, pulling, stretching and straightening it with his left hand.

_It would be easier if he just left it off_, Dr. Luke thought as he watched, _or used one of the glove makers_. He glanced at the one over in the wall. Clever machines really, they would form the glove directly around any hands placed inside, always guaranteeing a perfect fit for the user. It was extremely useful for him since medical glove manufacturers didn't make them to fit Oompa-Loompas. Willy hadn't explained what material was used, but had assured the doctor they were as sterile and sanitary as latex surgical gloves. He had, at Dr. Luke's request, programmed them to provide different colors for the Oompa-Loompas, based on their jobs inside the factory. Not all of them were as fond of purple as Willy was. Amused, the physician tugged on the candy maker's sleeve. Once he was sure of his attention, he pointed wordlessly. Willy blushed and hastened to pull off his other glove. He placed both hands in the outlet and waited the few seconds it took for fresh purple gloves to form on his hands.

"Thanks," Willy said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sweet dreams, Willy," Dr. Luke responded. "Enjoy your movie."

Willy waved and hastened on his way to the elevator. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get used to the brace on his wrist. He really hoped the Buckets didn't notice it. He eyed his right hand and forearm critically. The shape was obvious to him, but that might be because he knew it was there. Maybe no one else would perceive it. Maybe . . .

**- W - C - F -**

Mr. Bucket answered the knock on the door. "Willy, you don't have to knock."

Willy shook his head. "It's only polite." A new thought occurred to him. "Keys! You'll want keys to your door. I'll make three so you can each have one. Will that be all right?"

Mr. Bucket pulled at his hair. Why in the world would they need keys? The only person here was Willy. It was his factory and the things in their new . . . quarters were really his. Probably be best not to argue though, the man was so anxious about it. "Fine, that's fine, Willy, no rush."

"There's a phone in the round box on the shelves," Willy pointed toward them. "The number is on the cards inside the box. You can call in and let your employer know why you'll be out tomorrow." He nodded anxiously.

"Thank you, Willy!" Mr. Bucket felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He'd been trying to figure out how to notify his boss about the situation. Now, more than ever before, he needed his job.

The chocolatier looked past Mr. Bucket and smiled widely at Charlie. "Are you ready to watch your movie?"

"Yes!" Charlie bounced with excitement, the DVD in his hands. The Buckets followed Willy down the hall. Willy opened a pair of cobalt blue doors with silver trim on the other side of the hallway. A few steps down a short hall revealed a small, complete theater. The cobalt blue carpeted floor was slanted, so that anyone using it would have a good view. The walls were navy and silver. There were about a hundred plush indigo seats, each with their own cup holder and a place for popcorn. An indigo velvet curtain hid the screen.

"Refreshments?" Willy asked, indicating a large air popcorn machine and drink dispenser in the back. There was also a wide assortment of Wonka candies.

"Popcorn!" Charlie looked pleadingly at his parents. "Please?"

"All right," Mrs. Bucket replied. "We would all like some popcorn and lemonade, please."

Willy soon had a fresh batch of popcorn popping, the mouth-watering aroma filling the air. "Butter?"

"Yes, please," Charlie responded as he watched his friend filled four small buckets with the delicious treat and pour butter over the kernels. It was just like going to a real movie theater. Ice was added to four cups which were promptly filled with lemonade. Smiling, they followed the chocolatier to the seats in the very middle. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket took the seats behind Charlie and Willy.

"This is called the sweet spot," Willy explained to Charlie as he set his refreshments into the holes in the arms of his seat. "It's where the director would sit when he works with the sound technicians for the movie so they're the best seats in the house." He accepted the DVD from Charlie and carefully extracted the shiny disc. He bent over and slipped it into a slot next to his seat. A touch opened the plush covering on the arm to reveal controls for the player. "Everybody ready?" They all nodded. Willy touched the play button and then turned a knob, lowering the lights to off. The curtains slid open as music filled the theater.

The Buckets settled back in their seats. Mr. Bucket slipped his arm around Mrs. Bucket and they snuggled close to each other. It had been a long time since they'd been to the movies. They'd never been able to take Charlie to one. The bright sights of fish under the sea, singing and talking, filled them with wonder and amazement. They didn't remember animated movies being this good. Marlin's search for his son, Nemo, with the help of Dori and the others was certainly heroic enough for anyone. Their encounter with the sharks was scary without being too frightening. Nemo's desperate attempts to escape with the help of his new friends, his determination to return to his father had them rooting for the little father and son clownfish.

Willy cringed, his blood ran cold, as the father searched frantically for his son. His papa had never tried to find him. He was sure of it. His location had been as obvious as Willy could make it. If his dad had wanted to find him, he would have. He wanted to hide his eyes at the horrifically familiar sight and sounds of the dentist office. He flushed with heated shame as Nemo fought to escape and return to his dad. He should have tried harder, he shouldn't have put it off once he'd found where his papa was located. He should have gone immediately and at least tried to reconcile with his dad. Tears ran in absolute silence down his frozen face.

As the movie ended, the lights came up automatically. Charlie turned eagerly to share his enjoyment with his friend and blinked in surprise. Willy Wonka had vanished without a sound, entirely unnoticed by the Buckets.


	35. Chapter 34 Dark Mares Running

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 34 - Dark Mares Running Through the Night for a New Beginning**

Charlie really wanted to go find his friend, however his parents convinced him to wait. After all, he would see Willy in the morning and there was no telling where the candy maker was currently.

"He probably has a problem to fix or something," Mrs. Bucket informed her son.

"Why didn't we hear anything?" Charlie asked curiously. He found it quite odd.

"Maybe he has a pager and it vibrated," Mr. Bucket said.

The boy didn't say anything, but he found that an even stranger notion. Where would Willy have gotten a pager? And why would he? Somehow, the chocolatier did not strike Charlie as the type to carry such a thing. It seemed too intrusive for such a reclusive and private man. One thing was true and that was he would see his friend in the morning and would probably spend most of the day with him. That thought made him semi-content to wait.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy hastily stripped and stepped under the warm shower. As long as he stayed there, he could pretend the tears flowing down his face were regular water drops. He lathered up a lavender washcloth and began to scrub diligently. A brief glance at his sore wrist showed that it was turning spectacularly Technicolor in blues and purples. Yuck! He was grateful the brace that Dr. Luke had put on it was waterproof. He'd hate to have to take it off and put it back on. Of course, he would probably have to find someone else to put it back on. His mind scrambled around looking for distractions which flowed in and out of his thoughts with the splashing water. No matter how hard he tried, they treacherously circled back to that movie.

The chocolatier did not understand how it had gotten on the Recommended List. Why would his Oompa-Loompas suggest something so awful? A tiny portion of Willy's mind stepped back and examined the situation objectively. If he was being truthful, it was a very good movie and he might recommend it to anyone - anyone that is, except himself. It was a truly horrible and traumatic movie for him. Of course, his friends did not know that, because he had never, ever said a word. It was part of his greatest shame that his own fa-fa-fa . . . papa had run away from him. How many people had their moms and dads run away? He was positively certain that had happened to very few people. One maybe, but both? No. He was a horrible, unwanted discard.

Willy was shivering constantly as he stepped out of the shower, his tears finally stopped. He wasn't cold, he was . . . He didn't know what he was. He hastily dried off and dressed in a clean pair of pajamas and fresh gloves. He hoped he hadn't offended the Buckets! With any luck, they would think he'd gone to take care of something, an emergency of some sort inside the factory. Yeah. He tried to think of what he could claim it was if one of the Buckets (_Charlie_) brought it up. Possibilities jumped around his thoughts, but nothing stood out. Maybe they wouldn't ask? Maybe . . .

The chocolatier retreated to his high, soft bed. He pushed the button so the sweet scent of melted chocolate filled his room along with a quiet roar. The shaken man stepped up and slipped under the covers, curling up in a ball of misery in the absolute center. He closed his eyes, only to blink them open as perfidious memories clawed at his heart. He froze and gazed with blind, unblinking eyes at the remote ceiling as the flashback took hold.

The boy child named Willy Wonka stared in disbelief at the gaping hole where his home had once stood. His stomach clenched tightly, only to drop. It felt as if a giant had hammered a blow into his middle. The very foundations of his existence were gone. Willy stood there, staring, he never knew how long. Darkness fell and cold seeped deep into him. He waited; waited like a bewildered, abandoned dog certain his master would come to retrieve him. Cold raindrops finally pulled him from his daze. His father was not coming back for him, he knew that. He had said he would not be here when Willy returned and one thing the boy knew about his father, Dr. Wilbur Wonka, **always** kept his promises.

With heavy heart and steps, Willy turned and walked away from the site of the only home he had ever known. He walked shakily down the street, toward the nearest police station. Since he was a toddler, he'd been told repeatedly to go to a policeman if he was ever lost. He felt more lost now than he had ever dreamed possible. Distantly, he wondered what they would do with him since he was unwanted and homeless.

The boy shuffled mindlessly in the line of people, waiting to speak to an officer.

The man at the desk frowned as he looked at the dazed youth standing in front of him. That odd dental gear was too much! His face twisted into disgust. "Yes? What is it, son?"

_I'm not your son! You wouldn't want me! My own pa-parents don't want me!_ "Yes sir, I've . . . lost my . . . home, sir."

The officer's frown deepened. "Wait here." He gestured to another man who came over. They whispered to each other, gestured, pointed and finally nodded. "Go with this man."

Willy blindly did as he was told. He went where he was directed, sitting beside an empty desk. The officer left him to speak to another man, this one in a rumpled tweed suit.

Cool, frosty eyes examined the boy. Questions were asked and Willy answered automatically. Name? Willy Wonka. Parents' names? Dr. Wilbur Wonka. No mother. Address . . .

"It's gone, sir." The man had not believed him. Eventually, he was prodded into a car and they drove to where home used to be. The police detective's mouth dropped as he stared at the empty slot in the row of townhouses. He scratched his head and shook it. He decided the boy was lying about the address. People did not move townhouses, especially not in a few hours. They returned to the police station and Willy followed listlessly back to the hard chair beside the man's desk.

"Runaway," the man said into his phone. "Yeah. Gave a weird story about his father running away and taking their home with him. . . Yeah, he provided the address of a place that'd been torn down. Don't know why he'd make up an impossible lie like that. Kids!" The man nodded to the person on the other end. "How soon can you send someone to get him?" He snorted. "That long? What are we suppose to do with him for two, three days?" His eyes stared coolly at the boy huddled beside his desk. "Yeah, just get somebody here as soon as you can." He stood and gestured abruptly. "Family services can't pick you up for awhile, so you'll just have to stay here."

Willy went where he was prodded, the heavy hand on his shoulder pushing him toward the stairs. They went down into the bowels of the building. The hallways were dull, dingy and grungy with filth. Peculiar, sharp, acidic scents filled the air. It made Willy's stomach churn. He was wide-eyed as he was pushed into a cell and the heavy barred door clanged shut behind him. He cringed into a corner on the bunk as loud, harsh voices called out nasty, malevolent, vicious words. He curled into a tight ball, his eyes burned as he was unable to sleep.

A shudder ran through the chocolatier's frame as he threw himself out of his bed. He spun around, a sob caught silently in his throat. Ancient terror scrabbled in his mind. He paced for several long moments, to finally sit on the window seat, curled up in a corner, staring outside at the rain glistening in the streetlights. He'd known that the memory of his dad's leaving would come back that night, known as soon as he realized that his friends' home would probably be destroyed in the storm. He'd held it off all day with the knowledge it would eventually claim him when he was most vulnerable - night. He just hadn't expected it to go so deep or long. He could still smell the revolting scents that surrounded the jail cells at the police station. He frantically took a deep breath, trying to recapture the sweet, soothing scent of melted chocolate that should fill his rooms at night. His insides quaked as the cruel scents from his memory warred with the sweet scent of the present. Revolted, he staggered to his bathroom and heaved into the toilet bowl.

Willy rinsed his mouth with water to remove the bitter bite from the back of his throat and then shakily wiped his mouth with a damp cloth. Exhausted, he returned to his bed, once more curling up in the absolute center, only to have the cycle repeat itself over and over. Unable to stand it any more, Willy retreated to the window seat in his office. He curled up under the soft purple blanket. His hand shook as he touched the window pane, part of him was vaguely grateful that his nightmares and flashbacks had not gone past his dad's departure and the two nights he'd spent at the police station. He closed his eyes as he struggled and shoved mightily at the door to his childhood memories, finally slamming it closed on them as the time for his day to begin arrived.

With an exhausted sigh, Willy Wonka rose from his seat and went to the bathroom. He examined himself critically in the mirror. His pale complexion emphasized the dark, bruised looking circles under his eyes. He grimaced, knowing there was no way to really hide them. The candy maker dressed slowly, considering what excuse he could make for his hasty departure and his fatigue. As he placed his top hat on his head, he finally decided to blame them on the mythical trouble that had called him away if they asked. Truly, trouble had dragged him away and kept him awake. His troubled memories were fully to blame, but the Buckets did not need to know that part.

The chocolatier stopped by the elevator and pushed the call button. Its arrival was announced a few second later by a musical ding. As he had expected, there was a laundry basket full of new clothes for the Buckets. The Oompa-Loompas were as efficient as always. He picked it up and went to their door. He knocked softly, not wanting to wake them if they were still asleep. Not getting a response, Willy cautiously opened the door and peeked inside. It was still dark and quiet. He slipped in, nudging the light switch with his elbow, and placed the basket of clothes on the sofa. He turned to leave, only to pause. His head tilted to one side as he examined the thought inside his head. With a nod, Willy turned back.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie woke to a delightful scent tickling his nose. Startled, blue-green eyes blinked open and took in his new room. He stretched and slipped from the soft, warm, comfortable bed, pausing only to check that Oriana was still sleeping soundly. He padded to his door on bare feet and opened it. He took a deep appreciative breath and followed his nose to the kitchen. There, he found Willy Wonka with an apron tied over his clothes, busily beating something in a bowl. "Good morning, Willy!"

Willy jumped and whirled around. He smiled brightly. "Good morning, Charlie. Did you have a good night?"

"Yes, I did," Charlie noted a certain lassitude in his friend's movements that spoke of exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

"Making waffles," Willy responded. "Would you like plain, blueberry, strawberry, chocolate chip or pecan?"

The boy blinked at the offered selection. He was not used to choices and he'd never had a waffle before. The chocolate chip waffle sounded intriguing. Chocolate for breakfast? However, he decided for something simpler. "Plain, please."

Willy nodded and turned to pour some batter in a strange looking appliance sitting on the counter. He closed the top and hummed to himself as he waited. Charlie found a seat on a barstool and rested his chin in his hands, watching Willy work. The candy maker sat the bowl down and pulled out some oranges. He cut them in two and pressed the halves on a juicer, twisting them firmly to get all of the delicious juice from them. As Charlie watched, he began to notice something strange. Willy was working mostly with his left hand. Was he left handed?

Willy winced as he picked up the pitcher and hastily put it down. He swapped hands, pouring with his right from the lighter juicer into the heavy pitcher in his left hand.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Charlie asked with concern.

"Nothin'," Willy responded, quickly turning away to check the waffle maker. He flipped it over and opened it up, pulling out a perfect, golden waffle. He transferred it to a plate and placed it in front of Charlie. He nudged the butter and maple syrup over to him. "There you go, Charlie, one plain waffle." He smiled with bright artificiality.

"Willy," Charlie drew his name out, his brow furrowing with worry. "What is wrong with your hand?"

"Nothin'," his friend gave the same response in a squeakier voice. He reached over to place a glass of orange juice and another of milk in front of the boy.

Quick as a flash, Charlie caught hold of his right hand. Willy let out a little pained yelp as he pulled away from the boy's grip just as Mr. and Mrs. Bucket came out of their bedroom. "Fresh clothes on the sofa," Willy chattered swiftly and bobbed his head, ripping the apron off, "there are laundry chutes in the bathrooms. Just drop your dirty clothes down them. I'll be back later. Bye!" With that Willy practically flew out the door.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket blinked at each other. What in the world?

"Charlie, what just happened?" Mrs. Bucket asked as she joined him in the kitchen area, while her husband went to call in to work.

"Willy," her son frowned darkly at the closed door. He was sure he'd felt something in that too brief instance. "I think he hurt his hand," he informed her.

"Last night?"

Charlie's head tilted and he blinked in thought. "Yesterday, in the elevator." Well, it had looked like an elevator even if it didn't act like one. How many elevators could fly? "When he got us before the . . ."

"Tornado," his mother finished softly. "Oh dear." Why hadn't he said something? She wiped her hands on a dish towel and looked at the breakfast things laid out on the counter. She began to make waffles from the batter for Mr. Bucket as he came over to join them.

"Maybe I should go find him," Charlie slipped off the stool.

"Finish your breakfast, Charlie. He'll be back in a bit. Give him a . . . moment to get settled again," Mrs. Bucket stated wisely. "We have to remember that he's not used to people."

A few minutes later, there was a timid knock on the door and it eased open. Willy edged cautiously inside. "I, uh, forgot my hat and cane." He reached for the items on a stand beside the door.

"Willy, have you eaten yet?" Mrs. Bucket asked quickly.

"No ma'am."

"Come have something," she said, gesturing over to join them. She wondered how to find out about his hand. She didn't want to scare him away yet again.

Willy slowly walked over and sat down beside Charlie. He smiled back when the boy smiled warmly at him.

"Are you alright?" Charlie asked. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I, erm, had some problems crop up last night." Willy looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry I left like I did."

"I'm sorry too," Charlie commented. "It was a good movie. I really enjoyed it."

Willy nodded, unsure of what to say in response. That darn movie had caused him enough trouble.

"How would you like your waffles, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"Chocolate chip, please ma'am," the candy maker answered, mindful that he needed to get his daily requirement in. He began to wonder if there wasn't an easier way of doing it. It wasn't that he didn't like chocolate. He loved it! It just was awkward making sure he'd eaten enough. He stared off into the distance out of the window as his thoughts chased the problem around.

"How many?"

"Just one, please," Willy responded absently.

Mother and son carefully craned their necks, examining his right hand. It was hard to tell, but there was a telltale outline of something on it under the glove.

Willy resurfaced to the here and now and became aware of their regard. He pulled his right wrist protectively to his chest and blushed slightly.

"Willy, what's wrong with your hand?" Mrs. Bucket asked gently, but firmly, in the no nonsense tone mothers used on their children when they expected obedience and an answer.

His face twisted and he started to speak, only to stop and then try again. "I bruised my wrist," Willy finally managed to say. "It's nothing, really."

"May I see?" She asked hesitantly as she placed his waffle on his plate.

Willy paused, only to shake his head. "It's okay. It's been taken care of." He nodded and appeared to focus his attention on his waffle, making his signature out of the chocolate syrup as he poured it.

Mrs. Bucket exchanged looks with her husband and decided it would be better to not press the issue. They'd just have to keep an eye on Willy and try to make sure he really was as fine as he insisted. Charlie was right, the poor man looked exhausted. Breakfast was finished in relative silence, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket wondered what they would find when they checked their house. Willy's mind was currently bouncing between candy snow, his daily chocolate requirement and the paperwork he planned to do that day. Charlie was thinking about the movie, while shooting concerned peeks at his friend.

After finishing breakfast, the Buckets examined the clothes that Willy had brought them. They were astonished that they were brand new and their sizes. As with the baskets of food, there were not any tags or anything to indicate their manufacturer. Where had the chocolatier gotten them? How did he know their sizes? "Willy, you didn't have to do this," Mr. Bucket exclaimed.

Willy brushed it off. "Hurry and get dressed." He looked at his young friend. "Bring Oriana with you to my office, 'kay?"

"Okay Willy," Charlie nodded obediently.

Willy left for his office, granting them some privacy.

**- W - C - F -**

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket left Charlie at Willy's office, promising to return for lunch. Willy was sitting at his computer desk, tapping away on the keyboard when Charlie entered. He smiled warmly at the boy who was trying to hold onto a book as well as the energetic kitten as he nudged the door closed. "Just put her down," Willy instructed. He stood and fixed a small bowl of warm milk. He carefully added a few drops of vitamins the kitten needed and placed it on the floor mat. Oriana bounded over and eagerly began lapping up her breakfast. The friends smiled at the kitten.

Willy gestured Charlie over to his window seat. "I found something I think you'll like to see," he said.

"What?" Charlie asked.

His eyes were bright with curiosity as Willy picked up one of the large, beautifully bound books lying on the seat. "They're photo albums from my candy shop."

"Really?" Charlie eagerly accepted the proffered album as he sat down.

Willy placed a packet of brightly colored sticky arrows beside Charlie. "Look through them. If you find any photos you want, mark it with an arrow. I'll get copies made from the negatives for you. I'm sure you'll find pictures of your . . . Joe Bucket in there."

Charlie nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. He carefully examined the first photograph. It showed a very young man in a top hat and frock coat, standing in front of the Wonka shop which looked freshly painted. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Willy responded after a glance at the picture. He returned to his workstation and got back to the reviews, raises and bonuses.

Charlie studied the first picture, surprised at how young Willy looked in it. He looked really young, not much older than Charlie was now. He shook his head. That didn't make sense. Maybe Willy Wonka was one of those people who never looked their proper age. He sneaked a peek at Willy. He certainly didn't seem very old even now. Grandpa Joe had said that the shop had been open for five years before the factory was opened. The factory was fifteen years old, almost sixteen. That meant Willy had to be at least thirty nine, probably older, in his early forties at the youngest. Yet, Charlie looked over at his friend as he concentrated on his work. He looked younger than that. He scrutinized the picture and thought again that Willy looked young. With a bright face and shining, proud smile, he still looked painfully, fearfully young.


	36. Chapter 35 New Knowledge

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 35 - New Knowledge**

Willy was deep into his work. There were just a few more reviews to go and yet the last ones always seemed the hardest. Deciding to get more comfortable, Willy toed his boots off. He didn't think anything of it. He'd done it many times before while working in his office. He absentmindedly picked up a pen and twirled it around in his fingers as he tried to think of something new to say on his current review. He hated sounding repetitious! Just then something sharp sank into his left foot. "Ow!" Willy jumped in surprise, pulling his feet up under him, and peered under his computer desk. _What was that?_

Charlie jumped at Willy's exclamation. "Are you all right?" He hopped to his feet, setting the photo album aside, prepared to help his friend. He wondered if Willy's wrist was bothering him. He'd been working steadily through the morning.

With a frown, Willy reached under his desk and grabbed an unrepentant kitten by the back of her neck. He pulled her out and held her by the scruff of her neck, dangling limply in front of him. "What did you do that for, Oriana?"

"What did she do?"

"She attacked my foot!" Willy frowned again as she hung there and mewed once at him.

"Why would Oriana do that?" Charlie asked in puzzlement as he stepped over to stand beside the candy maker.

"The only thing I can guess is she was hunting or pretending to hunt," Willy responded. "My feet are not prey, young lady!" He shook a finger on his other hand at her, only to jerk it back just in time when she batted at it with her paws. Those were sharp little claws! She mewed again. The frown turned into a sly smile. Willy hissed at her, sounding very much like an irritated adult cat.

The kitten made a startled sound. This was something new and most unexpected. She mewed softly in a plea. Willy smiled and mewed back, somehow sounding firm as if laying down the law. Oriana's beautifully shaped ears drooped. As Charlie watched and listened in fascination, the candy maker mewed again and began a low hum in the back of his throat. One of the kitten's ears came up, shortly followed by the other. She began to purr back. With a slight grin, Willy placed her on the floor.

"Should I put her back in her playpen?" Charlie asked, watching the kitten as she patted at Willy's foot with one paw. She leaped backwards when it moved, her tail sticking straight up. She side hopped around it, mouth open in a silent hiss.

Willy giggled at the kitten's silly antics. "No, I think it'll be okay. She shouldn't scratch anybody again, at least not deliberately." He rubbed his tired eyes. "What time is it?" He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "Almost ten o'clock. I think it's time for a break."

Charlie nodded, happy to do whatever his friend wanted. He followed him, surprisingly still in stocking feet, to the hidden door to his quarters, the kitten weaving in and out between their legs. He trailed behind Willy to his kitchen area and slipped on to a bar stool.

"What would you like? A drink? Something to eat?" Willy inquired as he rummaged around in his refrigerator.

Charlie thought for a moment. It was so odd having choices! "Chocolate milk?"

"Okie doke!" Willy responded with a warm smile as he filled two large glasses from the refrigerator with the requested drink.

Willy kept glasses in his fridge? How odd!

"With a scoop of ice cream?"

Oh! That sounded wonderful. Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "Yes please."

"What flavor?" the candy maker asked as he opened the freezer section.

"What . . .," Charlie stumbled slightly over his words. He cleared his throat. "Whatever you're having," he replied as the man turned to look at him over his shoulder.

Willy nodded and pulled out a carton of Wonka's Extra Rich Chocolate. He got an ice scream scoop from a drawer and plopped perfect scoops in each of the glasses of chocolate milk. He grabbed two spoons and joined Charlie at the bar with a huge smile. He offered one of the spoons to Charlie. "Dig in!"

Charlie ate the treat slowly, savoring the delectable chocolate on chocolate flavor. It was heavenly! He licked his spoon and turned to thank his friend, only to halt as he observed the chocolatier. The man's eyes were closed and the expression on his face was as close to ecstasy as he had ever seen. He watched as Willy delicately consumed his ice cream, each bite fully appreciated, before the next was taken. The oddity struck the boy once more. Willy owned the world's largest chocolate factory and acted as if he rarely tasted the treat or, perhaps, had never had it before. It was a dichotomy that Charlie found impossible to reconcile and absolutely fascinating. "What was your first candy?" His eyes widened slightly. _Where had that come from?_ He hadn't meant to ask anything!

"Hm?" Willy's violet eyes blinked open and focused on his young friend. He frowned slightly as he thought about the question. "I don't remember," he lied carefully, not wanting to admit the truth about it. For Willy remembered his first candy most vividly. He had been a young boy, not much younger than Charlie was now and not once had he tasted candy, though he had pled mightily with his dad for a tiny bit of the thing his contemporaries enjoyed so much. Halloween came and with it, his greatest temptation and shame - trick or treat. His papa sent him around the neighborhood to collect the candies handed out each year. And each year, it ended the same way. He gave the bag or plastic jack o' lantern full of denied treats to the dentist to sort through, so he would have an idea of what his patients, child and adult, had eaten this time. Every year he begged for just one piece, preferably of chocolate, and every year Dr. Wilbur Wonka sternly said no.

That year, his father had informed him with great pleasure that some children were allergic to chocolate and it made their noses itch. As always, young Willy watched with sad eyes as the theoretically delicious morsels were tossed into the fire to burn away to ashes along with his dreams. The next day, as he'd done his chores and cleaned out the fireplace, he'd found one, a single piece of candy that had not been destroyed by the fire. Carefully checking around and with great daring, he removed the wrapper from it and placed the chocolate in his mouth. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the single most marvelous taste he'd ever experienced. It was exquisite! Never had he imagined such flavor existed! It was even better than he had dreamed possible!

Afterwards, Willy Wonka had gone more than a little mad as he clandestinely tried every piece of candy he could lay his hands on without his father discovering his guilty secret. Each taste drove him further into his new passion. He carefully wrote his reactions to their flavors and what might improve them. A new, driving desire filled his mind and life. He dreamed of making chocolate and candies. It was imperative that he be a chocolatier!

In retrospect, Willy now knew it hadn't even been a piece of moderately good chocolate. Ironically, it was a piece of the cheapest Halloween candy made by Slugworth in his first year of production. That candy maker would be incensed beyond reason if he ever discovered that **he** was actually responsible for the formation of his greatest rival.

Charlie wondered at the distant look on Willy's face as he sipped his chocolate milk. He remembered his first piece of chocolate clearly. It had been a Wonka Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight. After that, all he had ever wanted for his birthday, the only time his family allowed themselves to indulge in something other than necessities, was a Wonka bar. Only once had he tasted any other maker's candy. A little girl, new to the city and school, had shyly offered him a small piece of Halloween chocolate. It had not, he remembered, been even remotely as fine as Wonka's. The flavor and texture had been truly horrible. Before then, he would not have believed that candy could be nasty. But there it was. Of course, he hadn't told the girl what he thought. That would have been mean for she truly hadn't known any better. A few months later, she was gone, having moved yet again to another new city. However, before she had left, he had given her a single square of chocolate, carefully saved from his birthday bar. The astonished look of delight on her face as that precious morsel melted in her mouth had been reward enough for his sacrifice. Charlie was positive she was now as big a fan of Wonka's chocolate as he was.

Willy managed to smile as he swallowed some of his milk. He rolled it gently around his mouth, testing, always testing. His smile became more genuine as he thought of his chocolate cows. They did produce such fine, high quality chocolate milk! His smile turned to a grin. "You have a chocolate mustache," he informed Charlie thoughtfully.

Charlie blushed faintly and licked his lips, only to laugh as he realized something. "So do you!"

"Of course!" Willy laughed and licked his own rosy lips. He stiffened and looked down to find a kitten hanging off of one foot perched on the stool. She scrambled with her hind legs, obviously intent on climbing Mount Willy. He tilted his head to one side. Or maybe that would be a Willy tree?

"What?" Charlie asked, curious about Willy's reaction.

"Oriana is trying to climb me." Willy smirked slightly, wondering if this was a direct result of putting her on his shoulder the evening before. He'd given her an experience with height and she now wanted more. Or maybe she wanted to get at his hair again. He decided to leave her to her adventure and perched his elbows on table, holding his head up with his hands. "What should we make for your mom and dad for lunch?"

The boy shook his head. "Sandwiches?" That would be easy and quick to make.

Willy considered it. "They'll be cold." He frowned for a second, only to brighten with a new thought. "I know! How about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?" That was comfort food and surely the older Buckets would need the comfort and warmth, because searching through the rubble of your home was a sad and depressing business. Even better it included Charlie's idea as well.

"That sounds great, Willy!" Charlie contemplated his glass. "Do you think they'll find anything?"

"I," Willy paused, his expressive face full of uncertainty. "I don't know Charlie." Truthfully, he hadn't been able to bring himself to look out at where the Bucket's home had been when it had cleared enough to see. He just couldn't! His eyes turned soft as velvet and sad as he reached down to gently dislodge the kitten. He stood and walked around to stand beside his young friend. Tentatively, shyly, uncertain of how or why, Willy wrapped a slender arm around the boy's narrow shoulders. "I'm so sorry about your home, Charlie."

The boy looked faintly startled, before leaning into the warm hold. "It's not your fault." He wondered what to say. He knew, even if Willy didn't, that their little home had been doomed for quite some time. It was a miracle that it had held on as long as it had. Of course, the repairs might have delayed that inevitable demise until Charlie was grown, but it probably would have been a near thing. He vaguely wondered how frequently Willy Wonka would have snuck down into their little house to fight the wear of time if it hadn't been for that tornado. He looked up into Willy's distressed face, his blue eyes clear and true. "You saved our lives and took us into your home. We couldn't ask for anything more, Willy." He reached up and wrapped his thin arms tightly around his friend's chest, hugging him in genuine gratitude. "I like it here." He smiled faintly at his daring words, hoping he didn't sound too bold or something.

"I like having you here," Willy admitted truthfully. The friends separated with a laugh as they saw Oriana try to leap on to the seat of a nearby chair. Not being big enough to manage the distance yet, she plopped back on to the floor. She shook her head with apparent disgust and mewed loudly in complaint.

Charlie shook his own head at the little kitten's antics. His eyes absently scanned the room and he ended up looking outside. "What causes tornadoes?" Charlie wondered, starting when Willy gasped, only then aware he had asked the question aloud. He turned with genuine curiosity to the chocolatier. "Do you know?"

"Uh, well, you need moisture." Willy nodded. "Yeah, and a cold front or dry air over moist air or something else to trigger the winds to take the moist air up and usually you have a thunderstorm." He nodded again.

"We didn't have a thunderstorm yesterday," Charlie pointed out.

"I said usually," Willy responded. "But the winds have to start going clockwise." He twisted his left hand in that direction.

"I don't remember hearing about tornadoes around here. I thought they only happened where it's flat."

"Like Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and other Plain states of the Midwest," Willy nodded. "They're in what is called tornado alley, but really one can form almost anywhere in the world. Actually, there isn't just one tornado alley. There are a lot of little ones. Oddly enough England has the highest number of reported tornadoes per section of land in the world." He shrugged one shoulder at Charlie's startled look. "They're usually not as destructive as the ones in the United States though. Tornadoes normally travel short distances on the ground and frequently the funnel will lift up and skip over areas of land. You can have a row of houses destroyed and a single one in the middle will be totally untouched. Conversely, a row of houses could be untouched with just one or two damaged by it. They don't last very long either." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "If a tornado goes over water, it's called a waterspout. When it returns to land, it's a tornado again. Isn't that weird? Actually, it's all weird. If the funnel remains in the air, it's a funnel cloud. It's only a tornado if it touches land. If you're caught outside with a tornado coming and can't reach sturdy cover or a storm cellar, lie flat in a depression."

Charlie blinked at the string of facts. "How do you know all that?"

"I read a lot," Willy giggled, only to look upset. He started to slap himself for being rude and insensitive.

"Willy," Charlie stated, automatically putting a hand out to stop his friend, "if I have to write a report on it for school, you're helping me."

"Oh?" Distracted and interested by the statement, Willy's head cocked to one side. "'If you say so, Charlie," he answered obediently.

"I say so," Charlie smiled. He looked for something to distract both of them and found it in a large, curiously carved box. "What's that?" he asked, hoping he wasn't being overly nosy.

Willy's head swiveled to follow Charlie's finger. He smiled and walked over to lift the box down from its place on the shelves. He set it on a small table. "My chess set," he answered. "Do you play?"

Charlie shook his head as Willy opened the box, revealing intricately carved pieces. Each one was a delightfully detailed version of different mythical creatures. There were unicorns, dragons, gryphons, elves, trolls, imps, manticores, winged horses, minataurs and others. It was a gorgeous chess set and he could have spent hours just examining the various pieces.

"My papa taught me," Willy said. A faint blush touched his cheeks as he smiled warmly at an old memory. "He was so proud the first time I beat him in a game." His eyes widened as he comprehended how truly pleasant and happy the memory actually was. It was such a contrast to his normal memories of his childhood and dad! Joy filled his heart and flowed out, warming him all the way to his fingers and toes. Now that the memory was there, he recalled how frequently his dad had boasted of his son's victory to his patients for at least two weeks. Why couldn't things have stayed like that? Willy sighed and shook his head. "Do you want me to teach you?"

Charlie started. "Me?"

"I wasn't talking to Oriana!" Willy laughed. "Yes, you!"

"All right," Charlie watched carefully as Willy began to set out the pieces in their spots on a table with a checkerboard formed by the pattern of the wood. He slowly began to smile. This was going to be fun!


	37. Chapter 36 Remembrances

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 36 - Remembrances**

Willy patiently identified each chess piece and explained where they went on the game board. Once Charlie understood that, he began to explain how the pieces could move. The boy found it fascinating and was impressed. Chess obviously required a lot of thought to be placed in a game. He was astounded to find that some people played chess by sending letters to each other in the mail. Each letter represented a single move. A game could take months! "But how do they know the actual move?" Charlie asked, slightly perplexed. How would they know if they couldn't see the chessboard?

"They name the piece to be moved and give the new position on the board," Willy explained. This led to describing and identifying each square.

Charlie's mind whirled with the new information. "That's amazing! How do you remember it all?"

The chocolatier shrugged. "By playing games. If you and your opponent both call your moves as you make them, you soon find yourself remembering it. Some players don't even require a board and chess set. They can play it out in their heads."

Charlie's eyes widened and he stared at his friend in awe.

Willy blinked. What? "Oh no, not me, I could never do that. I always have too many thoughts running around in my head to play a chess game there too."

It was something of a relief to find there were some things that Willy could not do. Charlie smiled at him. "What thoughts? What are you thinking now?"

"Now?" Willy's head tilted to the side as he considered his thoughts. "I am thinking about chess and how to make it interesting for you. I'm thinking about candy snow and how to get the flavor right. I'm thinking about the reviews and how to say something without repeating myself. I'm thinking about fixing Thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow. I'm thinking about my daily requirement and how to make it easier to get so I won't have to worry about it. I'm thinking about how to. . ." Willy abruptly halted, barely restraining himself from clapping his hand over his mouth, having realized what he'd said. He prayed silently that Charlie had not caught his slip.

_Reviews? What reviews? For the squirrels? Wait a minute!_ "Daily requirement?"

Willy nodded, relieved to have Charlie's attention focused on that. "After I got sick and you took me home and then I came home, we, uh, my physician ran some tests and found that I need a certain amount of cocoa or cacao in my diet every day, otherwise I get sick." He nodded again at Charlie's shocked expression. "Yeah! Isn't that weird? We think it has to do with the whangdoodle sting, but we aren't absolutely positively positive about it."

"I've never heard of anyone requiring chocolate before."

"Neither have I." Willy frowned. "I hate being a medical first." And he did. Dr. Jack wanted Dr. Luke to write a paper about it. This worried Willy because if Dr. Luke wrote a medical paper, somebody might want him to attend a conference and talk about it. How could they turn down the invitations? Was it fair to Dr. Luke if he didn't write the paper? What if somebody insisted on confirming the results? Ew! He didn't want to be examined by strangers!

Charlie focused on the welcome fact that Willy had a physician. This was a relief since it meant his friend wasn't totally isolated and there was someone to take care of him. Did he slip out to their office or did the doctor actually make house calls? Or would that be factory calls?

The chocolatier pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. "Oh my, it's eleven already? I have to finish my paperwork before Mr. and Mrs. Bucket return. Come on, Charlie. We'll continue the chess lessons another time."

The friends returned to Willy's office, Willy going to his computer and Charlie to the window seat. The photo albums were fascinating, giving a glimpse of the time when the Wonka Candy Shop was open. The boy wished he could have experienced it in all its glory. He closed his eyes and imagined the marvelous aromas that would scent the air, customers bustling in and out, buying their favorite candies, Grandpa Joe working behind the counter or perhaps hurrying from the back of the shop with new candies to refill shelves, bins and jars.

A loud mew caused him to open his eyes. He smiled as he saw Oriana struggling to climb up to the window seat. He reached down and put her on the seat beside him. She walked over and climbed into his lap, curling into a tidy ball. Her mouth opened showing sharp little teeth and a pink tongue in a big yawn. Apparently her attempts at climbing Willy and his furniture had worn her out. He gently stroked her back as she fell asleep, somehow touched that she had chosen his lap for her nap.

Charlie turned the page and smiled at the group photo that filled the next sheet. The picture had been taken outside in a park. The neatly written caption said First Wonka Candy Shop Family Picnic - Sunday, July 7, 1985. He eagerly scanned the faces and grinned as he finally found Grandpa Joe, standing next to him was Grandma Josephine. He blinked in surprise as he stared at the teens kneeling in front of them. Mom and Dad? It was them! All of them had huge smiles on their faces as if they were having a lot of fun. It was strange seeing his parents just a handful of years older than him. He wondered where Willy was and finally found him, not that far from his family. His eyes went back and forth between his parents and his friend. Willy somehow managed to look both older and younger than these teenaged versions of his mother and father. Charlie carefully marked the page with a colored sticky arrow. He definitely wanted a copy of this one! The next few pages turned out to be full of individual and family photos from the picnic. He found the one of his family and also marked it.

As Charlie stared at a photograph of the shop's young owner, he wished that he dared to mark some of his friend. The thought made him hesitate. Willy was his friend. Couldn't he have a few pictures of him too? With that thought in mind, he flipped to the front of the volume and tagged the one of him in front of the new shop. He smiled down at the photo, pleased with the idea. The boy flipped back to the picnic and smiled at the various posed and candid shots. There was one of the younger attendees playing tag. The next photo showed a startled Willy as a small boy obviously tagged the candy maker to be It in their game. There were a few more photos revealing Willy laughing as he darted here and there, one hand holding his top hat on, as he chased the children around the park. The sight made Charlie grin, even as part of him felt envious and wished he could have been there, playing with them.

"Ah, the first picnic!" Willy leaned over Charlie, looking at the photos upside down. "That was a fine day."

"Mom and Dad were there," Charlie exclaimed.

"They were?" Willy blinked in surprise. He didn't remember meeting them.

Charlie nodded eagerly and flipped back to the group photo. He pointed to each of them, "Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Mom and Dad."

Willy's eyes narrowed slightly as he sat beside the boy to examine the photograph properly. His eyes widened in realization. "So they are!" He still didn't recall the meeting, but was not that surprised. His memory was a tricky thing. He wondered if the Buckets remembered it. "We need to start lunch. They should be back soon." He stood and looked down at his young friend with a smile. "You can bring the album and show it to Mr. and Mrs. Bucket if you like."

Charlie grinned. "Thank you!" Maybe they would tell him about their first meeting with Willy Wonka. That would be very interesting. It was strange to think of his parents as that young and not yet married. For the first time, he wondered how they had met and when they fell in love with each other. He looked at his lap and the sleeping kitten, wondering what to do with her. Willy solved his dilemma by scooping Oriana up in his hands. The kitten woke slightly, only to fall back asleep as he snuggled her under his chin. He stood to follow Willy back to his new home.

**- W - C - F -**

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket returned a little before noon. Not finding their son or Willy in his office, they went back to their new living quarters. A delightful aroma wakened their appetites as soon as they opened the door. They found Charlie with Willy in the kitchen area. Both of them were wearing aprons.

"Mom! Dad! Willy taught me how to make grilled cheese sandwiches."

"It smells delicious, Charlie," his father said as they sat down at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. His mother nodded and smiled, grateful to not have to cook. Their morning had been depressing and unfruitful. It was nice to come back to the warmth of the factory and hot food.

Willy placed bowls of tomato soup in front of the Buckets. Charlie set down a plate of hot grilled cheese sandwiches within easy reach of his parents.

"What would you like to drink?" Willy asked.

"Coffee, please," Mrs. Bucket asked. Mr. Bucket nodded in agreement.

Willy returned to the kitchen counter and started the coffee maker to brewing. Charlie sat down and looked at his parents as he took a sip of his own soup. It was very good. "Willy let me look through some photo albums from his candy shop." He considered his words. "I'm still only on the first one, but I found pictures of you at a picnic." He reached over and carefully opened the volume to the page of the group photo and set it between his parents so they could see.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket's heads touched as they leaned over to look at the picture. "So it is, Charlie," Mr. Bucket said before taking a bite of his sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully as he examined the photograph.

"I'd almost forgotten about the picnics," Mrs. Bucket smiled as warm memories filled her. "You always took me," she said to her husband.

"Of course, dear," Mr. Bucket swallowed and responded. "Who else would I take?"

"They were grand. Mr. Wonka always handed out special candies and had the very best desserts." Mrs. Bucket almost touched Willy in the picture as she found him. "I'd forgotten how young you appeared then, Willy."

Willy giggled self-consciously as he poured glasses of milk for Charlie and himself and set them at their places. He wished they'd stop talking about him. He knew he looked young. He hoped they didn't ask how old he'd been. He really did not want to explain it to them. They wouldn't and couldn't understand!

"Willy said he would have copies made of the pictures that I want." Charlie looked around at his friend as he poured the coffee for his parents. "What if I want some of you?"

"Why would you want those, Charlie?" Willy asked as he set the cups down for the Buckets and took his own seat.

"Because you're my friend," Charlie explained. "I'd like to have some of you." He smiled up at Willy, his face open and his blue green eyes were full of affection.

Willy Wonka hesitated as he considered it. Should he? Dare he? Was it wise? He spooned some soup and sipped carefully as he thought about Charlie's request. Finally, he nodded. "Only if I can take some of you too, sport." He grinned at the boy as it was his turn to look startled.

Hesitantly, Charlie nodded in agreement.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket smiled. "May we have copies of those as well, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked. They didn't have near enough photos of their son.

"Of course," Willy nodded before taking a bite of his sandwich.

The elder Buckets felt a thrill of excitement at the idea. They'd lost almost everything yesterday. Now they had the promise of something new and special, photos of their son, their Charlie, as well as photos of the family from the past. Mr. Bucket considered his memories and grinned. He remembered Mrs. Bucket's parents had joined them for a couple of those picnics as well. He kept silent so Charlie would have the pleasure of finding them for himself.

Unfortunately, the picnics had ended all too soon. When the factory opened, it was skipped that year for Mr. Wonka had been far too busy trying to get the huge complex running perfectly to plan the event. When he'd realized the date of the picnic had slid by unacknowledged, the man had been crushed. He promised everyone who would listen that the next year would see a new event that would outshine those marvelous summer days. Instead, sadly, it had seen the factory closed. The spies and those who'd sent them had also stolen the sparkle and laughter from Mr. Wonka along with his secret recipes and broken his heart and spirit.

Mr. Bucket closed his eyes as he remembered returning from their honeymoon visit to the former home of the two families to find the factory closed. Plans to attend the university were cancelled. Without the factory job, they could no longer afford the incidental expenses even with a full scholarship. His dreams, his family's dreams had died with Willy Wonka's. He opened his eyes to examine the man. He remembered his father's description of that horrible day, of how Mr. Wonka's voice had broken at the end, of two tear-filled words softly spoken and carried on a cold wind to those who'd still stood there in shock outside of the closed gates. "I'm sorry." He found violet eyes staring back at him full of loss, awareness and apology and knew Willy Wonka understood and regretted what had been lost on that black day, not just for himself, but his workers and their families as well. He smiled at him, trying to let him know once more, silently, that they did not blame him, had never blamed him for it.

"Did you find anything?" Charlie asked innocently. He remained unaware of the silent communication between his father and friend.

"A little," Mrs. Bucket answered honestly, "but nothing really worth saving. The house is a total loss, only the foundation is left. Fortunately, it looks like there wasn't much more damage to the town. The upper corner of the first townhouse looks like it got clipped, but that was it. I'm surprised. I really expected more damage than that." She shivered as she remembered the frantic, terror filled flight to safety with the tornado roaring after them and it slamming into the factory.

"What about the factory?"

"The factory?" Mr. Bucket looked startled and turned inquisitive eyes on his wife and Willy.

"The tornado hit the factory right after we got here," Charlie answered.

"It looks completely untouched," Mrs. Bucket said with a touch of wonder in her voice. Why hadn't the windows shattered at least?

"Of course, I designed my factory to withstand a lot more than just tornadoes." Willy nodded firmly and smiled brightly, hoping it would reassure Mr. Bucket who was looking distressed.

Mr. Bucket smiled tentatively back. "I'm impressed, Willy." And he was, not just because it had withstood a tornado unscathed, but that Willy himself had designed it. That was an amazing feat for a candy maker! He then remembered the chocolate palace and grinned. Willy had to be able to design buildings to successfully build that. He wasn't sure which was the most impressive, the massive complex of the world's largest chocolate factory or a building, a palace, constructed of such an unconventional material. "So what else did you do while we were gone?"

"Willy's teaching me how to play chess!"

"Really? That's wonderful, Charlie," Mr. Bucket smiled at his son. "Did Willy also have time to do his paperwork?"

"Oh yes, I finished all of the re . . . reports. Yeah!" Willy smiled; grateful he'd caught himself in time.

Charlie frowned slightly in puzzlement. "I thought they were reviews."

"Uh, yeah, reviews of reports," Willy replied, childishly crossing his fingers under the table.

Charlie started to say something, only to stop. For some reason, Willy did not want his parents to know exactly what he had been doing. Why? Whatever it was, the boy decided to follow his lead for now. He nodded and let it go.

Willy decided to change the conversation. "Now, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I trust you have the day off, Mr. Bucket?"

"Yes, I have tomorrow and Friday off," Mr. Bucket answered.

"Good!" Willy smiled brightly. "What time do you want to have dinner?"

"Noon, I guess," Mrs. Bucket answered, "if that is alright with you, Willy."

"That will be fine."

Mr. Bucket turned to his wife. "We still need to decide what we're going to do, dear."

_Do? That doesn't sound good!_ Willy's eyes switched back and forth between the adults, feeling suspicious.

"Yes," Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement. "We can't keep imposing on Willy."

_Imposing? You're not imposing! If you were I would say so. I have no social graces, remember._ "No imposition," Willy hastened to speak.

"You've been very kind and generous, Willy," Mr. Bucket said, "but we need to find a new place to live. I'm sure you would like your privacy back. Of course, there is the matter of, uh," he coughed, uncomfortable and unsure how to ask without offending the man, "paying you for, um, extra utilities and such." He made himself look Willy in the eye, only to find the man looked totally shocked and bewildered.

Willy's mouth dropped open and he started to speak. His head shook automatically. "No, no, no! You don't need to pay for anything." The chocolatier felt desperate and anxious. His heart thumped with unexpected apprehension. "These quarters would just be a waste of space if you weren't here and as for utilities, what you use isn't even a drop in the bucket compared to what the factory does. Really, it's quite miniscule." He nodded and added, "Besides, I don't pay for most of my utilities, just the phone and Internet. I have my own sources for power and water, sewerage and garbage disposal."

"We could at least pay you for the food," Mrs. Bucket offered.

"Grow it," Willy responded. "Well, most of it comes from the greenhouses and the rest is nothing really. I'm eating it too." He nodded again, suddenly feeling bereft. What else could he say? What should he say?

"Well, I guess that means we'll save what we'll need to move all the sooner," Mr. Bucket offered tentatively. They'd be able to put aside more money for rent and maybe get rid of some of their debts so they could afford something a bit better. Plus, there was the land. They should be able to get something for that as well.

"Can't we stay here?" Charlie asked plaintively. He liked it here! He wanted to stay with Willy. He turned to his friend who did not seem opposed to the idea. In fact, it appeared, at least to Charlie's eyes, that he liked it too.

Willy felt a spark of hope in his thundering heart. Charlie wanted to stay! Charlie was on **his** side. He shared a small, warm smile with his friend and turned his attention back to the adults. "You could stay."

"I don't know," Mr. Bucket turned to his wife and they exchanged telling looks. He sighed. "We'll think about it. See how it works for awhile." Willy might change his mind if his work was disrupted by them being there.

Charlie grinned hugely, certain of victory. Willy managed a smile, though he was not sure at all. He knew that they could still move out. 'Think about it' was frequently adult code for 'No'. Why couldn't they just stay? Everything would be so much simpler!


	38. Chapter 37 Baking and Floberties?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 37 - Baking and . . . Floberties?**

After lunch, Willy took Charlie back to his office. Oriana was left sleeping in her playpen which they had expanded to a larger size and snapped a cover on top so she couldn't climb out of it. As the candy maker said to the boy as they walked down the hall, "You don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and find her licking on your nose."

That made Charlie laugh and he nodded in agreement. He settled back into his spot on Willy's window seat and looked outside. The day was drizzly and windy. He was very grateful to be inside the factory which was quite warm and cozy. Many people would think it was too warm, but Charlie, having spent much of his life too cold, appreciated the snug heat. He observed his friend in the reflection of the glass and felt a touch of concern. Willy was dressed in his velvet frockcoat and vest as if the temperature was not high enough for him. He flipped to the picnic in the album and stared at the pictures of Willy running around in the park. Even then he wore a frockcoat, though this one was not velvet and yet the man gave no sign of being overheated, while everyone else was dressed for a hot day. With a sigh, he continued perusing the pictures, smiling at the various shots from the candy shop.

Meanwhile, Willy was virtuously fighting his way through verifying everything from the previous quarter balanced correctly. He knew, even if he hated doing it, that having them ready would make the yearend so much easier to handle. Normally, this chore would have been completed weeks ago, but between his dad's death, his illness and delays caused by the accidents, he had been falling woefully behind on such tasks. He heaved a silent sigh. If he'd taken the company public when he had opened the factory there would have been a financial officer to handle this and he could be focusing on his candies. He had considered it, but when the spies' perfidious activities had been discovered, he was grateful he had not taken that step. He would have also ended up worrying about profits being siphoned off of the books and if the P&L was a true reflection of his company's financial state. At least, he knew the Oompa-Loompas were extremely straightforward about such things and any errors would be honest mistakes.

The chocolatier's only breaks were to check his incoming emails periodically. Most of them were reports of how the candy production was going. A few were on the status of various projects in progress around the factory. One was from Dr. Luke and confirmed what Willy had suspected. His wrist was not broken, only deeply bruised. Finally he pushed himself away from his computer. He rubbed tired eyes and drifted over to curl up in the other corner of the window seat.

Charlie looked up and frowned at the pinched look around his friend's eyes. "Are you all right?"

Willy sighed and nodded as he stared outside. One hand reached down and pulled up his wool blanket. He wrapped it over his knees and sat back, his head resting against the bookshelf, his eyes closed. "I'm seeing columns of numbers dancing in front of my eyes," he explained with a touch of humor in his voice.

Charlie sighed in sympathy. He felt the same way after a long math quiz. Thinking about how tired Willy had been that morning, he stood up. "Maybe you should take a nap."

The candy maker stubbornly shook his head and opened his eyes. "I think it's time to make dessert for tomorrow. Want to help me?"

Charlie nodded in agreement. He really thought Willy should get some rest, but if he wouldn't, he certainly couldn't make him! All he could do was help as much as possible. With that thought firmly in mind, he followed Willy to his kitchen. There, he insisted on fetching the necessary ingredients and utensils, making Willy stay put as much as possible. If the chocolatier required something be mixed by hand, Charlie was ready to try.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Willy Wonka spun around on his bar stool and bent forward at the waist until he was eye to eye with Charlie Bucket. "Just what do you think you are doing, little boy?"

Charlie jumped back, startled by the almost aggressive action. "Helping you," he paused for half a second, "sir."

Willy straightened and threw his hands in the air. "Helping? You won't let me do anything!" He folded his arms across his chest and pouted sulkily.

Charlie tried, he really did, but he could not stop himself. He laughed out loud, laughed until his sides ached with it. "I'm sorry," he finally managed to gasp out as he wheezed in deep breathes of air. "It's just you were so tired this morning and I did want to help."

Willy sniffed, his head turned away and angled to suggest insult. For a horrified moment Charlie was positive he had offended his friend and hurt his feelings. The actual fact was Wonka had seldom been pampered in his life. In fact, until now, the only ones who had coddled and indulged him were the Oompa-Loompas. That Charlie felt the need actually touched Willy deeply. It showed how much the boy truly cared. Finally getting his astonishment under control, Willy turned around once more to stare at Charlie. "I appreciate the thought, I think, but let me do some of the work. Okay, Charlie? I enjoy baking!"

Cautiously Charlie nodded agreement and the two friends resumed work on the cake. This time the tasks were more evenly shared and they both started having a great deal more fun. Charlie had never baked anything before and it proved to be an interesting and surprisingly enjoyable experience. Especially when Willy insisted they lick the bowls and spoons after he gently slid the round tins into the oven to bake. As good as the unbaked batter tasted, the cake was going to be spectacular!

Willy now proceeded to the icing. His first ingredient was a cup of rich, thick melted chocolate straight from his production line, or so Charlie thought. He didn't know that it was piped from the chocolate river just past the waterfall where it was mixed to perfection. Added to that was another quarter cup of melted chocolate from just above the waterfall. This was the purest essence of the finest chocolate in the world. Willy Wonka had always used the finest and best ingredients in his candy. He was most particular when it came to his chocolate. He carefully measured out an amount of the most wonderful powdered sugar which looked like fresh fallen snow. Next he added fresh, softened butter from his prize and dearly loved dairy cows. The friends took turns beating the delicious concoction until it was silky smooth.

The frosting was set aside at a very low heat, while they waited for the layers to finish baking. Willy showed a particularly toothy grin to Charlie. "You know, Charlie, there is something you could do for me."

The grin and sly tone made the boy nervous. He had a feeling Willy was about to get back at him for interfering with his baking. "Yes Willy?"

"The dough for the bread needs to be kneaded," Willy began, only to tilt his head to one side. His eyes narrowed with consideration. "Needs to be kneaded," the candy maker repeated in a distant tone. Willy's attention snapped back to the present. "It would be rather difficult for me with my bruised wrist. Would you do it?"

"Yes, of course, I would," Charlie responded, eager to help. Charlie Bucket had never, not once in his life, kneaded dough. Nor had he seen anyone else do it. So it was a bit of a surprise to find out that kneading was hard work. It took every bit of his strength to do it and his arms soon started to ache.

Willy, who was busily cleaning and tidying his kitchen, hummed happily as he worked. A short time later, he turned to Charlie. "Problem?" Willy asked in mock surprise.

Charlie puffed a gust of air out and couldn't completely stifle a soft moan. "This is hard!" He tried not to whine or anything, but it was the truth. It was hard work, especially for someone who wasn't used to doing it.

Willy's smile softened and he nudged Charlie to get him to shift over. "I know," he responded. "Maybe I should do a turn."

"But your wrist," Charlie protested.

"You'll help me," Willy told him. He pulled off his coat and pulled his apron back on. His sleeves were rolled up to be held in place by arm bands. Charlie watched with a stunned expression as his friend made the chore he found so hard look easy. He kneaded the dough using only his left hand, his right carefully cradled against his chest. Willy knew he had to pay attention or he might try to use both hands. That would hurt! And Willy did not like to hurt. He resumed humming as he settled into a task that he found particularly soothing. He laughed softly at the look on Charlie's face and shook his head. "It was hard for me the first time I did it, too. It takes practice." He touched a flour covered, lavender gloved fingertip to Charlie's nose.

Charlie wrinkled his nose and laughed. He brushed at his nose, hoping to get off the flour he knew Willy must have left.

This, in turn, made Willy laugh harder. "You got more flour on your face," he informed him puckishly.

Charlie blinked and looked down at his own flour covered hands. He chuckled and leaned against the counter, watching Willy work. He realized it took muscle which he didn't have . . . yet. If they remained in the factory and if Willy was willing to continue teaching him things, he would build that muscle by doing, probably the same way Willy had gotten his.

Willy's head suddenly came up and his smile brightened. "I believe the layers are ready to come out of the oven!" Charlie watched as his friend carefully removed each pan. Willy used a flat knife to loosen the edges before gently flipping a pan over to place each layer in the precise center of their respective cooling racks.

The boy took a deep, appreciative sniff of the delightful aroma. "It smells great!"

Willy nodded agreement. "Once they've cooled, we can spread the icing and build our cake," he said with satisfaction. The staccato sound of drums suddenly filled the room.

Charlie watched in bewilderment as Willy stiffened and rocked back on his heels, his head tilted in an obviously listening poise. The boy waited patiently so he wouldn't distract his friend who seemed to find the sounds very important.

"Charlie," Willy started nervously, "I, um, have to go and take care of that. There's a problem in the factory." The candy maker had turned off the speakers for the intercom system in all of executive row except for his private quarters. He had not expected to feel so comfortable as to allow Charlie inside them. Once he had, he'd forgotten all about the speakers. He slowly removed his apron, wondering what he should say. "I'll finish the cake when I get back, 'kay?"

"Okay, Willy." Charlie nodded. He considered offering his help, but decided it would be unwise. He did not want to seem pushy or overly curious. "I'll see you later?"

"Uh, yeah," Willy responded absently as he rummaged in a closet, "I'll try. I don't know how long this is going to take though. It sounds like a real mess." He pulled out shiny purple overalls and began to pull them on. He zipped them up and found a matching hard hat.

Charlie followed his friend into the hall. "Be careful," he said firmly, "and don't work too hard."

Willy nodded as he stopped by the elevator. He pushed the call button, his mind already focused on the problem he had to fix.

Charlie stood outside the Bucket's new quarters, waiting for Willy to leave. He watched the man step into the glass elevator. Just as the outer doors slid closed, he could have sworn the elevator had jerked to the right and gone down in a diagonal. The boy shook his head and shut his eyes for a moment. That couldn't be right! Puzzled green eyes opened and stared at the doors. Elevators went up and down, not left and right and they especially did not go off on an angled tangent! He turned to open the door, only to pause and stare over his shoulder in speculation. Elevators also didn't fly and yet Willy's did, so maybe it could also go in . . . odd directions? Charlie decided to keep an open mind where Willy Wonka was concerned.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy paused and rubbed his head as he considered the stubborn valve. He looked over his sticky tools and picked up another wrench. He fastened it tightly around the huge nut and turned, using both hands, putting his back and his full weight into it. He ignored the stabbing pain from his wrist, determined to stop the flow of candy syrup. Incrementally, it moved, tiny bit by tiny bit, the gush began to thin, finally slowed to a drip and then stopped. The candy maker heaved a huge sigh of relief and sat back on his heels. He looked around the room and his lip curled in disgust at the dripping mess that covered everything. A small sound caught his attention and he turned to the Oompa-Loompa crew that was waiting for the all clear. He nodded and gestured for them to enter. Willy rubbed the side of his face and sighed again.

"You better get cleaned up," Richard stated as he examined his employer and friend with concern.

"Yeah," Willy nodded in exhaustion and stood up straight, stretching mightily. He looked at the tribal chieftain and frowned slightly, trying to remember something. He was supposed to ask . . . What?

"We've finished disassembling the Television Chocolate room," the little Oompa-Loompa continued. "I'll make sure this gets cleaned up and we'll hook in a replacement for the damaged machine."

Willy nodded. That was it! Television Chocolate was a brilliant idea and they'd managed to get it to work successfully ninety-nine percent of the time. Unfortunately, actually using it would be prohibitively expensive, even for him. It would just require too much chocolate to broadcast bars everywhere. Unable to think around for a way that would require less chocolate, they had finally decided to shut it down.

As if he could read Willy's mind, Richard spoke. "We sealed the television transporter device and placed it in storage."

"Good," Wonka responded tiredly. He hated thinking about his failures. _Stashed away, along with all the other bright ideas that do work, but we can't use for whatever reason._ "I'll leave things in your capable hands and get cleaned up."

"Get some rest," Richard admonished.

Willy waved a hand over his shoulder as he dragged his drained, aching body back to the elevator. He pushed the button for executive row, almost on auto-pilot. His body swayed as the Great Glass Elevator jerked into motion. His eyes slid shut and he started to fall asleep.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie finished his dinner and fidgeted as he sat on the floor, reading the book from Willy's library. He kept glancing up at the door, waiting for his friend to return. Oriana was running around, stalking something only she could see. His eyes tracked the kitten's movements as she bounced forward and dodged back as if something had jumped out at her. Suddenly, she halted, one paw lifted in the air. Her ears swiveled and she turned toward the door. Thinking it might be Willy; Charlie immediately climbed to his feet and went to open it. He looked out in the hallway, only to find nothing there. He sighed.

Oriana brushed past Charlie into the long hallway. Her tail switched slowly back and forth as her ears pricked forward listening.

"Hey! Come back here!" Charlie ran after the kitten, finally catching her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. He gasped as he spotted Willy curled in a corner, apparently unconscious. "DAD! MOM!" Charlie called loudly.

Willy jerked slightly as Charlie's parents hurried up in response to their son's yelling.

"Oh dear!" Mrs. Bucket covered her mouth as she stared at the red substance caked in Willy's hair and down one side of his face.

The chocolatier's eyes blinked sleepily open and he stared up at the three people and one kitten staring at him. "Is it morning already?" He asked groggily and stretched.

"Don't move," Mr. Bucket exclaimed as he squatted beside the man. "You're hurt."

"Huh?"

"You're bleeding," Mrs. Bucket explained in a concerned voice.

Willy blinked and reached up to rub some of the red stuff on to his gloved finger. He held it up in front of his eyes and looked at it, slightly cross-eyed. "Candy syrup," he stated and licked it, "black cherry." Willy shrugged and pushed himself to his feet.

"You're not hurt?" Charlie asked, feeling breathless from his fright.

"Of course not, dear boy!"

"Why were you lying in the corner?"

Willy leaned forward. "I fell asleep," he admitted sheepishly. "I probably would have spent the night there if you hadn't woke me up." He nodded once in affirmation. "I'm very grateful. I need to get this gunk out of my hair before the only way to remove it is to cut it out."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket looked at each other and rolled their eyes. They were glad Willy wasn't hurt, but falling asleep in the elevator did not sound like a good thing.

Mrs. Bucket smoothed her apron. "Charlie, give me Oriana and help Willy." She examined the man with a frown. "He can get you some clothes without getting that," she hesitated, "stuff on to them. You get cleaned up and I'll fix some dinner."

"You don't have to . . ." Willy started to protest.

"Charlie, while Willy gets cleaned up, come and fetch his dinner. All right, both of you scoot!"

Charlie Bucket decided it was a good thing that his mom had sent him with Willy. It seemed like the poor man couldn't put one foot in front of the other half of the time. The other half of the time, he muttered things that sounded like nonsense. What was an Oompa-Loompa? What was television chocolate? With some prodding, he managed to find out where Willy's pajamas were and got a clean pair for him. He carried them into Willy's bathroom and left him there. Charlie carefully checked the time on the mantle clock so he could go in and wake him up if he had to. He certainly didn't want Willy to fall asleep and drown in his own shower!

The younger Bucket hurried down the hall to accept a tray from his mother. She'd heated a bowl of tomato soup left over from lunch and toasted some thick slices of bread. He carefully carried it to Willy's bedroom. He sat it down on a table and checked the clock. He waited a few moments, before going to listen at the door. Not hearing the shower, he decided to knock.

"Huh?" Willy opened the door clad in his pajamas, his feet bare. He swayed slightly and blinked owlishly at Charlie. "Is it time to get up?"

"It's time for dinner," the boy informed his friend, patiently guiding him to the breakfast bar. He placed the tray his mother had fixed in front of him. Willy managed to eat about half of the bowl and a slice of toast before it began to look like he was going to fall asleep in the soup. Charlie prodded Willy to his feet. "Bed," he stated firmly, trying to guide him over to it.

Willy craned his neck and stared at the kitchen counter with a frown. "Cake! We haven't finished the cake," he exclaimed and tried to walk in that direction.

"It can wait!"

"Nuh-huh, we need it for tomorrow." Willy shook his head stubbornly.

Now Willy, while a slender and trim man, was still considerably bigger than Charlie so it looked like he was going to win. However, unlike Willy, Charlie was awake. He used that to his advantage. "Mom and I can finish it!"

Willy frowned and rocked forward. "Are you sure? I don't want to be any trouble."

Charlie thought that an odd thing to say. For one, they were talking about the cake, not Willy. In any case, Willy and he had already done the majority of the work. All that was left was to frost it. "No trouble," he pushed and urged the chocolatier toward his high bed. He pushed the covers down and tugged at his friend.

Willy yawned mightily as the boy somehow got him up on the bed. "If you're sure," he frowned and tapped a gloved finger against his temple. "We'll have more ready next Tuesday, ma'am." He nodded and then to Charlie's relief sank back on to his soft pillow. "The flobertie birds are unbizzling the wumbles again." Willy curled up slightly as Charlie pulled the covers up and carefully tucked them under his chin.

"Good night, Willy," Charlie whispered softly. He crept over to kitchen and began to tidy up. Stacking the dishes on the tray, he made room for the cake layers. Fortunately the cooling racks were different heights so they could be stacked too. He would have to come back for the frosting. He peeked into the pan and was astounded to find it still warm and silky smooth as if they'd just stopped beating it a moment ago.


	39. Chapter 38 Thanksgiving

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 38 - Thanksgiving**

Willy Wonka abruptly sat bolt upright in the wee, dark hours of the morning. His heartbeat thrummed in an insistent tempo and he stared blindly unblinking into the darkness. Minutes ticked softly by until finally the flames dancing in his mind faded back into the past. He blinked and his body sagged slightly. Shaking hands reached up and wiped tears from his cheeks. He almost sobbed in relief to feel his gloves and not pain. He should have known. Why hadn't he known? He looked around in confusion, surprised to see his quarters by the pale moonlight and to realize he was in bed.

Unwilling to risk more sleep and a repetition of his dream memory, Willy climbed carefully from his bed and sat at the window. He looked out and smiled softly to see the courtyard of his factory home gently glowing under the moon. He curled up on the seat and the very tip of his tongue slipped out to taste the air. Snow was coming, huge, soft fluffy flakes just the way he liked it. He took a deep breath and held it. His eyes narrowed as he considered what he senses told him. It would start within a week. He knew it was real this time and no longer a guess.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie Bucket woke with a start. He looked around in confusion until he recognized his room. The thought sent a thrill through him. He had his very own room and it was most magnificent. He went to peek out the window, trying to determine if it was late enough to get up. Deciding it was, he checked Oriana, cleaned her litter box and got her some more water. With a cheerful smile, the boy took a shower and dressed in clean, new clothes. Today was Thanksgiving! Willy had a wonderful feast planned and he had his parents and his friend, all of which made Charlie Bucket an extremely happy boy. He paused to look out the window again and thought about his grandparents. Charlie wished they were here. Grandpa Joe would have been especially delighted to be back in the factory once more. They weren't here, but he liked to think they knew where their family was living now and were pleased. A knock on his door tore him from his thoughts.

"Charlie, breakfast time," his father called.

"Coming!" Charlie hurried to join them at the breakfast nook.

"Why don't you see if Willy is up and wants to join us?" Mrs. Bucket asked as she set out the plates.

Charlie nodded agreement. He practically skipped out the door and down the hall. He hoped Willy was more rested and would join them. He eased the door to the candy maker's office open. Not seeing any sign of the factory's owner, he glanced around cautiously before going and gently knocking on the hidden door. He held his breath as he waited anxiously for a response.

Willy automatically looked down when he opened the door, expecting to find an Oompa-Loompa. It was only when he saw the brown shoes, far too large for any Oompa-Loompa, that he remembered the Buckets. He immediately adjusted his gaze to meet Charlie's smiling eyes.

"Good morning, Willy!"

"Good morning, Charlie," the candy maker responded.

"Mom asked if you would join us for breakfast," the boy asked politely.

"I," Willy paused and thought for a moment. It was only polite, right? "I, erm, uh, 'kay." He turned and went to his closets, trying to decide on a coat.

Charlie followed, silently watching as Willy went through the multitude of colorful frock coats. The chocolatier reached the end and started going the other direction. As Willy came to the other end, he reversed directions again. Puzzled, Charlie walked over to stand beside him. "What are you looking for?"

Startled, Willy jumped and turned around to stare wide-eyed at his young friend. "I," Willy blinked and swallowed, "a coat."

Charlie looked at the candy maker and then his closet. Willy had a lot of coats. Why didn't he just pick one?

"I want something special 'cause it's a holiday," he explained in response to the unspoken question.

The boy nodded thoughtfully and examined the coats in Willy's closet. He could understand that desire. As he looked, he recognized many of them from his encounters with Willy in the park. He pulled one sapphire blue sleeve out and looked at his friend, only to shake his head. He hesitated at the plum red one, since it was his favorite. Just then, another coat caught Charlie's eye. It was also red, a rich cranberry red velvet with narrow pumpkin pinstripes. "This one," he stated firmly, pulling it forward to show to Willy.

The chocolatier removed the chosen frock coat from his closet and held it in front of him as he looked in the mirror. He examined his reflection thoughtfully, finally nodding in agreement. He shrugged it on and settled it neatly on his shoulders. His hands automatically found the matching top hat; though Charlie didn't see how he knew which hat box it was contained in. Willy precisely positioned his hat on his head as he followed the boy back to the Ivy Suite.

Breakfast was eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. Everyone concentrated on their food for awhile, until Mr. Bucket broke the silence. "I wonder if I can find a paper," he said to Mrs. Bucket who nodded thoughtfully. A newspaper would certainly help in their search for a new place to live.

"Do you get the paper?" Charlie asked Willy.

Willy shrugged. "I usually read the news on the Internet." He actually paid very little attention to the news or the world outside of his chocolate factory. There were Oompa-Loompas who liked to keep up with such things and they would let him know if there was something truly important or that he might be interested in.

Mr. Bucket considered reading the paper on a computer. He knew such things were possible as he'd done it at the public library with some major city papers. He didn't find it as satisfactory as having the paper in his hands though.

"I believe the little newsstand on Cherry Street is open today," Willy said as he took a bite of his scrambled eggs with a bit of bacon. He chewed for a moment and swallowed. "Charlie, do you want to watch the Thanksgiving Parade?"

The Buckets all blinked at the question. Mr. Bucket glanced thoughtfully around. Charlie swallowed his bite of toast. "Sure!" He wondered how they were supposed to do it though. He hadn't seen any signs of a television set anywhere.

Willy smiled in relief. He seldom watched TV, but he did like the Thanksgiving parade. He always felt that Christmas wasn't really here until he saw Santa at the end. "Good!" He checked the rooster kitchen clock and noted that it was almost time for it to start. He wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin, before standing and walking to the fireplace. He removed a remote control from a small box and stepped back. The Buckets watched in surprise as the wall slid open over the fireplace when he pushed a button to reveal the largest television screen they had ever seen. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged startled looks. The flat panel television was easily twice as large as the largest set in the biggest electronics store in the city! Willy quickly found the channel that showed the parade without any of that infernal switching to other parades. He felt one was quite enough, thank you very much!

Charlie and Willy settled down to finish their breakfast while watching the start of the parade. Mr. Bucket hurried through his and kissed Mrs. Bucket's cheek before going out to find a newspaper. Mrs. Bucket decided to start cleaning up. She periodically looked up to see what float or balloon was getting the most giggles from the two friends. By the time Mr. Bucket had returned from his successful quest, Willy was darting out of their living quarters during the commercial breaks to fetch the dishes that made up their holiday dinner. On the last trip, he used a small trolley that held a huge covered, sterling platter. He left the turkey in the keeping of Mr. and Mrs. Bucket to scurry over to Charlie, his eyes anxious and nervous.

"I can't find the cake!" Willy whispered to Charlie, his lavender gloved hands wringing each other.

Charlie smiled as he hastened to reassure his friend. "I brought it here for Mom and me to finish last night. Don't you remember?"

"You did?" Willy blinked in surprise and shook his head.

"You were really tired," Charlie added as he saw his friend's startled expression. "You kept saying the strangest things!"

"I did?" Willy's heart leapt in apprehension. "Like what?"

Charlie thought about it, trying to remember the odd words, "Something about television chocolate and Oompa-Loompas." He glanced at the television and missed the shock that grew on the chocolatier's face. He turned back just as Willy forced himself under control. "What's an Oompa-Loompa?" He waited expectantly for an answer.

Willy opened his mouth, only to snap it closed, at a total loss as to what to say. What could he say? How could he explain?

Charlie recalled Willy's last words. "Oh! And something like herbert birds unwizzling the bumble bees?"

Willy automatically changed the syllables back around and corrected him. "Flobertie birds unbizzling the wumbles?"

"Yes!" Charlie was surprised Willy remembered his nonsensical words.

Willy sat on the couch in open-mouthed shock. "Oh my," he shook his head in bewilderment. "Could it be?" But how could he know? It only happened once a century and . . . "The floberties are unbizzling the wumbles!" Willy shouted as he sprang to his feet. He walked rapidly around the room with the Buckets staring in amazement as he paced his circle, his hands flying every which way as he muttered to himself, wondering what he should do about it. He suddenly froze with a finger in the air. "I have to put out more cocoa beans immediately!"

Willy Wonka was out the door in a flash, taking his hat and cane with him. The door still swung on its hinges as Mrs. Bucket called, rather startled by the sudden exodus, "What about Thanksgiving dinner?"

"I'll be back shortly," was the faint cry they heard as the candy maker vanished down the hallway.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy Wonka was practically dancing in the elevator as it moved through his factory, he was that excited. He soon reached his destination, the cocoa forest, and pounced upon the first Oompa-Loompa he saw. "Where's Richard?" he signed, barely stopping his dance to make the motions.

The Oompa-Loompa grinned as he watched Coompa-Ka dance to some unheard music. Now, seeing Willy dance was nothing new for the Oompa-Loompas. They frequently got to watch him bop and bob to their own songs. However, Willy Wonka dancing to nothing at all was something novel and new. He wistfully wished he knew what had started Sweet Cocoa Maker to dancing and if it was possible to bottle it for sometime in the future when their employer was not so excited and happy. Instead of seeking an answer, he gave one, pointing to the large round house in the trees where the Oompa-Loompas' chief lived. He crossed his arms and bowed.

Willy stopped long enough to return the gesture in thanks and danced his way up the ladder that led to the Oompa-Loompa village. When the tribe moved into the factory, Wonka had spent a great deal of time and effort in replicating their homes inside the cocoa forest greenhouse. He had also greatly expanded the entire level until it would be unrecognizable to the people who had originally helped him plant the first trees. For when Willy Wonka had first begun building his factory, he had imported an enormous number of full grown cacao trees as well as monkeys to help keep them fertilized and assist in their reproduction. The trees had done well under the tender care of his employees and were doing even better under the attentions of the Oompa-Loompas.

Richard smiled at their Dear Heart, pleased to see him so excited and happy. However, Willy's presence now was puzzling. "I thought you were spending the day with the Buckets. Is it not your holiday of thanks?"

"Oh yeah!" Willy nodded emphatically as he danced around the room. "But guess what! Guess!" He didn't wait for the other to make a guess. "Charlie told me I said the flobertie birds were unbizzling the wumbles! Yeah! I said it last night when I was falling asleep." He nodded so hard, his top hat almost fell off of his head.

Richard knew Willy had been exhausted last night, but if there was the slightest chance his words were true . . . The chocolatier's excitement now infected the chieftain and he beamed. "We must put more cocoa beans out immediately!" He gestured regally to a patiently waiting Oompa-Loompa to send out the orders by drums. Extra cocoa beans must be placed out throughout the forest. Also, the specially designed vents must be opened and the fans turned on. Everything must be done immediately if not sooner! If the flobertie birds had unbizzled the wumbles, they would soon be passing by unnoticed by most of the world, for men did not believe in either floberties or wumbles. However, Wonka and the Oompa-Loompas all knew if they could lure them into the cocoa forest and they started nesting and building homes, the trees would flourish as never before and the quality of the cocoa would improve tremendously!

The entire cocoa forest was soon buzzing with excitement as Oompa-Loompas scurried around carefully placing out the ornately carved bowls full of select cacao beans. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the trees as the huge, silent fans began to turn, sending the scents wafting high into the air outside. Lookouts were placed near the vents, specially designed to allow the floberties and wumbles access to the gargantuan greenhouse.

Richard sighed. "It is done. Now only time will tell if you dreamed true, Dear Heart."

Willy nodded. How he longed to have some of the floberties and wumbles flitting around his cocoa trees! He tried to lower his expectations, because he could so easily be wrong, but it was hard. He'd studied every hint, legend and myth of the floberties and wumbles, their habits and migrations.

The chieftain escorted his tall friend back to the elevator. "We have something for Charlie."

"Charlie?" Willy knelt down, his head tilting to one side, eyes now bright with curiosity. He accepted the cloth wrapped bundle from one of the other Oompa-Loompas. It was bigger than they were and he wondered what was inside the soft package as he held it.

"Now go and enjoy your holiday." Richard grinned as their employer left. It was so hard to get Willy to take a day off. Having the Buckets present made it much easier to get him to honor his own holidays as he made sure his workers could honor theirs.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy knocked on the door of the Ivy Suite and then stuck his head inside. "Have you seen Santa yet?" he asked Charlie anxiously. He knew the flobertie birds and wumbles were more important, but he enjoyed the tradition of seeing Santa to start the Christmas season. He would hate missing that!

Charlie shook his head. "Not yet." Mr. Bucket looked up from his newspaper and exchanged smiles with Mrs. Bucket.

Reassured, the candy maker hurried to sit down beside Charlie and stared up at the television screen. He knew it would be soon and he felt an anxious excitement bubbling up inside. Unconsciously, he squeezed the soft bundle he was carrying.

"What's that?"

"Huh?" Willy looked down and smiled. "It's for you." He handed the package to Charlie and divided his attention between the boy and the parade.

Charlie turned it over and looked at it curiously. He glanced at the parade and satisfied he wasn't missing anything of importance, set about trying to unknot the ribbon holding it together. "What is it?"

Willy shrugged and gestured for him to open it. He leaned forward, curious and as excited as if it was a surprise for him.

All eyes on him, Charlie unwrapped the soft bundle to reveal a chocolate colored teddy bear with plum red velvet paws, ears and nose. He held it up and saw that it had purple eyes.

"A teddy!" Willy beamed at the soft bear the Oompa-Loompas had made for his friend.

"Now you can have Malia back," Charlie commented as he stroked his bear's soft fur.

"What does he smell like, Charlie?"

Charlie sniffed carefully and frowned slightly. "Chocolate and," he sniffed again, only to shake his head. He knew that scent. He was positive of it, but he couldn't think of what it was; only it made him think of his grandmothers.

Willy held out his hands, silently asking permission. Charlie gave the teddy bear to the chocolatier. He held it up to his nose and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. "Lilac," Willy commented distantly and swayed slightly before his eyes blinked open. "Chocolate and lilac," he nodded and gave the bear back to its new owner. "What is his name?"

"How do you know it's a he?" Charlie asked puckishly and grinned teasingly at his friend. Now he knew the scent had reminded him of the lilac water that his grandmothers had used when they'd had more money available.

"You get where you can just tell and that is most certainly is a boy teddy bear!"

Just then the announcers on the television excitedly told their audience that Santa was coming. Willy's head whipped up and his full attention focused on the set. He leaned forward, his breathing almost stopped as he waited. Charlie hugged his bear, watching Willy for a moment, before focusing his own attention expectantly on the television. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket smiled at the pair on the couch. Willy actually seemed even more excited than Charlie.

That impression was confirmed when the man began to bounce up and down in his seat as Santa's sled finally appeared. Willy Wonka began to clap. "Christmas Season is here!" He caroled and cheered the words. He was positive this would be the best Christmas yet! He beamed happily, his smile bright and joyous.

Charlie smiled quietly at his friend's glee and giggled. It was wonderful to see Willy so happy about something. It was obvious that Willy adored the Christmas holiday. He silently wished that they would remain in the factory so he could see Willy Wonka's reaction to the actual day itself.

The parade over, Willy turned off the television and sat back, a contented smile on his face. He looked down at Charlie and giggled. "So, what is his name?"

Charlie almost said Willy, only to stop as he thought that might be confusing. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think you'll figure it out," Willy assured him. "Sometimes it takes a while. It took days and days to learn Oriana's name!"

"Lunch time," Mrs. Bucket called, bringing everyone's attention to the Thanksgiving meal that Willy had prepared. Three Buckets and one Wonka gathered around the beautifully set dining table. Everyone found a seat and unfolded the linen napkins, placing them in their laps.

"Before we begin to enjoy this delicious meal, let us remember this is a day to give thanks," Mr. Bucket stated. "Let's go around and say what we are most thankful for today. Mrs. Bucket?"

Mrs. Bucket cleared her throat and thought for a moment. "I am most thankful that we are here together, healthy and happy, enjoying each other's company. Mr. Bucket?"

"I am thankful that we are all here, safe and sound, with a delicious meal to enjoy. Charlie?"

"I'm thankful to be spending the day with Mom and Dad and you, Willy," he smiled at each of them, his cheeks dimpling.

"Willy?" Mr. Bucket turned their attention to their host and benefactor.

Wonka's fair cheeks turned rosy as he blushed at the attention. He looked down at his hands and thought for a long moment. "I'm thankful for new friends in my life and I hope . . ." He trailed off, uncertain of how to say what he wished. He shook his head and blushed more deeply, tilting his head down so his hair hid his face.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket smiled at the candy maker. Mr. Bucket raised his water glass. "To new friendships!"

Mrs. Bucket and Charlie raised their glasses, echoing the toast. Willy, still blushing, silently raised his own glass of milk in response and took a sip from it. He greatly hoped that his newest friends would decide to stay in his factory. Violet eyes kaleidoscopically transformed into chocolate and closed as Willy Wonka wished from the very depths of his heart.


	40. Chapter 39 Mementos of the Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 39 - Mementos of the Past**

On Thanksgiving night when the flashbacks and nightmares tried to slither into Willy's mind, Malia pulled his thoughts safely away to the events of the day. The chess lessons, the parade, and the movie he and Charlie had watched in the theater while Mr. Bucket watched a game on the television. He finally ended up dreaming that his chocolate had changed him into a superhero and Charlie into his sidekick. It had been really confusing and very weird, but infinitely better than a flashback inspired nightmare! Still, the image of himself in tights was just . . . Ew! Willy sat in bed and shook his head, trying to shake that particular imagery from his mind. Thankfully, he felt much more rested than he'd been for the last several days. He gave Malia one last hug before nestling her in amongst his pillows and getting up.

Willy swiftly went through his morning ritual. Charlie was going to help him to go through his Dad's . . . things today. He really didn't want to do it and yet he wanted to get it over and done. He wanted the boxes, grim reminders that they were, out of his quarters. He felt sure he'd feel even better with them gone. He came out of his bathroom, dressed in black pants, his vest and a rather bland, for him anyway, shirt that was solid burgundy. He looked around and toed on his boots before going to the bed. First, he needed to change the linens and send the old ones down the laundry chute for cleaning. He moved Malia to the safety of the window seat and quickly stripped his bed and each pillow. He bundled everything up into a huge armful and managed to drag it all into the bathroom. It took a bit of work to shove the whole knotted mess down the chute.

His attention turned to the linen closet and he tried to decide on a new ensemble for his bed. Red? Burgundy? Blue? Green? Chocolate? He found a set in gold and chocolate. Perfect! Willy set about making his bed. A knock on his door distracted him. He opened and found, as he expected this time, Charlie. "Good morning, Charlie."

"Good morning, Willy. Will you join us for breakfast again?"

Willy smiled. "It is most kind of you to invite me, but I need to finish up some things this morning."

Charlie looked at his feet, trying not to be disappointed. After all, Willy Wonka was probably a very busy man. He couldn't expect him to spend too much time with him. He looked up at Willy. "I'll tell Mom and Dad." He turned to go.

The chocolatier realized he'd made his friend unhappy and didn't like that a bit. He glanced back at his bed. "Wait up, Charlie! I changed my mind." The boy's huge smile made his decision worthwhile. He grabbed a black coat and top hat with burgundy trim and followed him out.

**- W - C - F -**

Breakfast was almost over when Mr. Bucket cleared his throat, rather self-consciously. "Willy, we know you're a busy man, but," he looked to Mrs. Bucket for moral support, "could you keep an eye on Charlie again today? We won't make this habit! It's just we have some business we really need to take care of before I return to work on Monday."

Willy felt a twinge of suspicion and his stomach knotted. He wondered what they were going to do, but knew it would be rude to ask. "Charlie was going to help me sort . . . through some personal things today, so it will be no problem at all."

Charlie's parents looked relieved. "We have to see about selling our land," Mrs. Bucket explained. She managed a smile for her son. "We need to make the arrangements while Mr. Bucket is off from work."

"Okay," Willy responded after exchanging a glance with Charlie.

"We don't know how long this will take," Mr. Bucket warned.

"So you can have some leftovers from yesterday for lunch," Mrs. Bucket added.

Willy and Charlie just nodded. They soon retreated to Charlie's room, ostensibly to check on Oriana. Willy made sure the door was closed, before joining the boy at the playpen. "Charlie, are they going to look for a new place to live?" He looked extremely anxious and nervously rubbed his hands together, making his gloves squeak.

Charlie shook his head. "I don't know. They haven't discussed anything with me about it."

"I bet they didn't discuss their plans for today with you either," Willy muttered darkly. That was just like adults! His papa had been the same way.

"No, but there isn't any reason for us to keep it with the house gone," Charlie pointed out. "It's not like we could afford to build a new one there."

"I could build you a new house," Willy admitted reluctantly, "but I don't want to. I want you to stay here with me." He frowned petulantly.

Charlie smiled warmly. "I want to stay here with you too!"

"Even if I never show you the factory?" Willy asked, dread nibbling at his mind.

The boy nodded. "You're my friend, Willy, because of you, not your factory." He looked down for a moment. "But I do love your factory," he admitted honestly.

Willy giggled. "That's okay. I love my factory too." Charlie was such a good boy. Most would have been upset if he'd said that to them and decide they weren't friends after all. It just made him like Charlie Bucket even more.

"We better get started," Charlie commented. "It looked like you have a lot of boxes to go through."

Willy heaved a huge sigh. "Yeah, I just shoved anything that looked remotely like I might want to keep it into a box." The candy maker, after one last glower of suspicion for Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, led the way back to his quarters. His lip curled as he stared at the pile of boxes. For a single moment, he considered finding an empty room, shoving them all inside and locking the door, to be forgotten until the end of time. Then Charlie sat on the floor and opened a box. With a silent sigh, Willy removed his coat and hat, hanging them neatly on a coat rack shaped like a maple tree and sat beside him.

The first box was full of books, many of which Willy had read as he was growing up in his father's house. He swiftly started two piles, one pile for the library and the other, smaller pile for his personal collection. The travel journals of Wilton Wonka went into the latter. These volumes were the ones that had provided him with the first hints of Loompaland and the Oompa-Loompas. Willy suspected his papa had never read them or, if he had, had dismissed them as fantasies meant to spice up otherwise boring journeys. He was just thankful they had not been thrown away or burned before he could read them.

While Willy was sorting the first box, Charlie had moved on to the second box which contained the photographs, news articles and other things related to Wonka's chocolate empire. He sorted them into separate stacks by type and size and wondered what Willy would do with them. Occasionally, he paused to read an older article in fascination. It was a pity there wasn't something like a Wonka museum. These items would be perfect for one! Charlie glanced up to find his friend reading something in one of the older books. He shrugged and opened another box, only to find more books, some scrapbooks, photo albums and papers. He stacked them as neatly as he could beside Willy for him to go through and sought another box. This one revealed more pictures and some knick-knacks wrapped in newspaper. He carefully undid each one and set the breakable items on a table for Willy to examine later.

Charlie considered the painting of a gentleman in a red hunting coat with black boots and top hat. A grin slipped on his face as he recognized the resemblance to Willy. He wondered if this was the inspiration for his colorful wardrobe. As he moved to place it on the stack of pictures, he felt something shift in the back. Afraid there might be some damage, he turned it over and stared in surprise. He carefully extracted the envelope, noting it was addressed to the chocolatier. "Willy?"

"Hm? Yes Charlie?" Willy looked up from his father's private papers.

"This is for you," Charlie offered the letter to his friend.

Wonka's brow furrowed with bewilderment. He stared at the envelope as if it was going to bite. His hand trembled as he reached out to accept it, only to turn it over and over after recognizing the strict, proper handwriting, nothing like his own curly style. He clenched one hand into a fist as the last time he saw his papa echoed in his mind. "Candy is a waste of time." His father towered over him, grim, stern and there was an undercurrent of anger as if a storm was about to unleash its full fury on him. "No son of mine is going to become a chocolatier."

"Are you going to read it?"

Willy blinked and looked at Charlie. He felt timid as he opened the envelope and removed the letter. His insides were shaking and his heart seemed to thump harder than ever before. He tried to collect himself as he started to read. _My dearest son?_ That couldn't be right! His papa had hated him, hated what he had become. He . . . Willy's eyes scanned onward, he was unable to stop himself. Silent tears rolled down his face and he jumped to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. Willy Wonka paced as he read his father's apologetic words and of his self-loathing. _Then why did you leave? Why?_ He froze, his face going blank as he read of the physical examination a month later that told it all. An imbalance? He and his father had been separated for over half his life because of a chemical imbalance? He stood and shook with his confused emotions in an absolute turmoil. He started pacing again, his tears continued to flow mutely as he contemplated his father's words. He halted and swayed, uncertainty, hurt, sorrow, regret, puzzlement, loss and heartache swirled around and around in his mind, making him dizzy.

Blindly, Willy Wonka felt for a chair and collapsed into it. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. The man started at a gentle touch to an elbow. He stared blankly at Charlie, finally offering a sad smile as the boy handed him a glass of water. He took a sip and sighed. He wished he had gone to see his father when he finally discovered where he was living. Why hadn't his papa come to see him? If he regretted their separation so much, if he really still loved him . . . Willy looked down at the precious paper and his lips quirked faintly as he realized there was more to be read. He turned it over to read his father's shame laid bare in blue ink and white paper as well as his conviction that Willy, his only son, must hate him for what he had done. "Papa, I loved you," Willy whispered in a pain filled voice. "I loved him, Charlie. Why couldn't we . . .?" Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks as he sat slumped in his seat, at a total loss.

Charlie bit his lip and carefully rubbed Willy's arm. He didn't know what to say and so decided it was best to not say anything. He leaned forward to hug the grief stricken man. It was awkward because of the chair and Willy's posture, but to the boy's relief, it seemed to help. Willy blinked uncertainly at him, unshed tears glistening in his dulled lavender eyes.

"I think it's time for a break," Charlie informed his friend. He wondered what they could do that would be sufficiently distracting.

Willy nodded and stood, sitting the glass aside. He placed his father's letter carefully on his writing table. He hiccupped and covered his mouth, blushing in embarrassment as he hiccupped again. He removed a piece of candy from a cut crystal dish shaped like a water lily and unwrapped it. He placed it in his mouth, letting it melt so it soothed his throat and stilled the hiccups. He silently offered the candy to Charlie. The boy accepted a piece. He tasted it and smiled as the buttery sweet flavor filled his mouth.

Willy looked around and gestured for Charlie to follow. Silently, the two friends climbed the spiral stair to the floor above. The chocolatier stepped away from the stairwell and turned so he could watch the boy's face as he entered. He smothered a tiny, damp giggle as Charlie stared in astonishment.

The room was twice the size of Willy's living quarters below. It looked like a park or a garden, with perfectly trimmed green grass, flowering topiary trees and bushes cut in fantastical shapes. Birds flitted around everywhere, their songs filling the air. Charlie watched in amazement as some of the birds flew over to Willy, flying around his head and landing, unafraid, on his shoulders and outstretched arms. One seemed particularly intent on the candy maker, its song rising and falling.

"Really? Let me fill that for you." Willy bustled around the garden filling bird feeders with seed and suet. He added fresh water to several birdbaths.

Charlie gasped and jumped as several brightly colored 'somethings' flashed by his head. He stared in fascination as jewel bright hummingbirds gathered around the chocolatier.

Willy giggled as they flitted at his hair and he listened to the humming of their rapidly beating wings. "I haven't forgotten you, little friends," he assured them. He carefully cleaned and refilled their feeders with fresh, colorful sugar water of the finest quality. The hummingbirds currently seemed more interested in Willy than their feeders, darting after him as he moved around the garden.

Charlie trailed behind them and finally sat on a bench, looking around at the birds and flowers, the fantastic shaped bushes and trees. He spotted a unicorn bush and a small dragon shaped in one tree. There was a prancing horse and an elephant, its trunk curled into the air. A bush cut to look like a cow appeared to be grazing on the grass as did several smaller bushes covered in pink flowers, cut in the shape of sheep.

Willy plucked a couple of oranges from a round tree and sat beside his friend. He offered one to him. Absently, Charlie accepted it. He watched as Willy peeled the skin off of his orange and carefully imitated his actions. Charlie smiled as the sweet tasting juice burst on his tongue when he took a bite. "It's beautiful."

Willy nodded. "I built it for the birds," he explained, "so they'd have some place warm to stay in the winter."

Charlie took another bite of his orange as he contemplated that statement. How had Willy gotten the birds to come inside, instead of migrating as so many of them normally would? A hummingbird zipped past Charlie to stick its long, thin beak into Willy's hair. He laughed as his friend giggled.

A squirrel scurried up and expertly climbed Charlie's leg. He chattered happily at the boy. "Flicker!" Charlie gently stroked his furry friend.

Willy smiled. "There's Rosemary." He pointed to a pretty little gray squirrel, shyly peeking out from under a bush. The squirrel watched them for a moment. Apparently reassured by Flicker's welcome and Wonka's presence, she hurried over to climb into Willy's lap. The candy maker reached back and pulled some sunflower seeds from a nearby feeder. He offered them to the smaller squirrel. She daintily took one, nibbling away to finish the first before getting another.

Flicker stretched over, still half in Charlie's lap, wanting some of the treats as well. Willy offered a small handful to him. Unlike Rosemary, Flicker grabbed as many seeds as he could, stuffing his cheeks until they were bulging.

"Greedy," Willy scolded him softly with a tender, teasing smile. "There's plenty. We're not going to snatch them away." He laughed as the squirrel tried to eat his mouthful of seeds. "Are you going to accept this greedy squirrel, Rosemary?"

Rosemary sat up and chattered at the chocolatier. Apparently the answer was yes, because Flicker hopped over to join her in Willy's lap. The pair entwined together there for a few minutes, before Rosemary jumped down to run off into the garden, Flicker chasing behind her. The friends watched the two squirrels chase each other around the bushes and up and down the trees.

Willy sighed sadly, his eyes looking off in the distance. "I wish . . ." He sighed again. "Well, no good wishing. I just . . ." He looked seriously into Charlie's eyes. "I did love my Papa, Charlie; I wished he'd known that before . . ."

Charlie patted his arm. "I know Willy." He blinked as tears stung his own eyes. How horrible to contemplate his grandparents not knowing he loved them! "I know and I think your father knows as well, now."

"I hope so, Charlie." Willy's lips curved in a sad, watery smile. "I hope you're right," he whispered.


	41. Chapter 40 Memories for the Present

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 40 - Fresh Memories for the Present**

Eventually Willy felt he could return to the boxes. He thought he was under control again, at least he hoped he was. He considered going to see Edmund later, after Charlie went to bed. He really didn't want to do it, part of him still ashamed that he had been abandoned. He still felt, even after reading his father's letter, the flaw was in him. The candy maker sighed as they returned to the boxes. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be anything else to further shatter his emotional hold, except for the memories that each of the older items brought. The little ceramic and porcelain knick-knacks found homes in among his own collection, souvenirs of his travels and candy expeditions.

Willy stared fondly at the painting of the man in his long red coat. It was the only real color he remembered from his childhood. Perhaps that was why he'd developed the style he had and his fondness for all things red. Once, a housekeeper, one of a long string, had given him crayons and a coloring book. He had been ecstatic at the different bright colors. When he finished the book, Willy had decided (as very young children tended to do) to brighten their home by coloring pictures on the plain walls. His papa had been furious and the housekeeper was quickly banished, replaced by another. He smirked slightly as he remembered finding traces of those childish drawings while cleaning out his father's house. Papa had forbidden any more 'art supplies' as he'd called them, but Willy had still found ways to draw, using twigs in the dirt, his school supplies and other things that came to his hands, including his classmates' discards. After careful consideration, the gentleman hunter was mounted on a wall in Willy's office.

Charlie froze in shock as he stared at a black and white photograph he had unearthed from yet another box. It showed a boy, younger than he was, with some sort of torturous thing on his head. His mouth was full of metal, his lips pulled wide by the horrible contraption. What was it? Who was it? He peeked over at Willy, wondering if he should ask or if he should show it to his friend.

Charlie's stillness and silence drew Wonka's attention. He shifted so he could see what was so fascinating . . . _Oh dear!_ Willy hastily removed the hideous photo from the boy's hand. He knew he would have to explain it. Would Charlie still be his friend once he knew the truth? Why had he packed the darn thing? He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired and old. He knew why, he hadn't wanted the shameful picture to be discovered by whatever strangers bought his father's house. Why hadn't he remembered and removed it before Charlie could find it? Why?

The boy shook himself and looked up at Willy with wide eyes. "Who was that? What was that on his head?" He blinked at the look of pain and tiredness on his friend's face. He leaned forward and rested a gentle hand on his arm. "Willy?"

Willy stared down at the floor, unwilling to meet Charlie's eyes. He didn't want to watch the disgust grow in his friend's eyes. He sighed sadly. "Me," he admitted in a tiny voice.

Charlie swallowed, his horror growing. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. "Willy?" He moved closer to the man who seemed to be trying to shrink into himself. Willy's face was buried in his arms, resting on his raised knees. He rubbed one of his friend's shoulders gently. "Willy?"

"Braces, they were my braces."

Charlie was stunned. He had never seen or heard of braces like those! "Did . . . they hurt?"

Willy shrugged slightly, his face still buried. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Papa was always adjusting them, so they would fit properly."

Charlie hissed silently. "Your father was a dentist?"

Willy nodded his head, as well as one could while trying to hide the way he was. He took a deep breath and raised his head slightly. "Papa was furious when he found I-I wanted to be a chocolatier." His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, a tiny circle of violet remained enclosing the black despair. "He hated candy," Willy whispered, only to clap his hand over his mouth.

The two friends blinked at each other, neither one sure of what to say. Charlie sat down beside Willy and leaned against him, offering a quiet support. He was now putting things together. This was why Willy and his father had been estranged. He shivered inside, remembering Willy's 'braces'. They were horrible! They looked like they belonged in a medieval torture chamber, not a dentist office. Maybe it was better that Willy had stopped talking to his father . . . Charlie believed in his family above all else, but to have a parent do that? No, it was probably for the best.

Willy straightened, puzzled. Wasn't Charlie disgusted? Wasn't he going to tease him? Or leave him? Maybe he had to wait until his mom and dad returned and then he would admit to them it would be best to move away from Weirdo Willy. He looked down, studying the solemn, young face. It was so open. He could almost read the emotions flowing through the boy. It slowly dawned on him that Charlie was not disgusted with him. He didn't hate him or think he was weird. It was amazing and liberating! Did he dare? Should he? If he did and Charlie didn't recoil from him, if he stayed his friend, he would be the absolute best friend that Willy Wonka had ever dreamed of having! "That's why Papa left me," he remarked, trying to sound casual, but actually sounding young and lost. He bit his lower lip, waiting anxiously.

_Left? How could anyone leave their child?_ Charlie felt a tear slid down one cheek. He abruptly threw his arms around his friend, appalled at the abuse he had endured. Those evil braces, abandoned, spied on and his most precious secrets stolen by people he trusted, locked inside his factory all alone. It was far worse than anything he had experienced or imagined. "I won't leave you," Charlie vowed, his head buried against one shoulder. "I promise. Even if my parents make me move out, I will still be your friend."

Willy awkwardly wrapped his arms around Charlie. His eyes glowed with gratitude. "Friends forever!"

"Forever and ever," Charlie echoed as he looked up at Willy, happy to see a smile appear on the man's face.

A growl interrupted the moment. Charlie blushed. Willy laughed. "Sounds like it's time for lunch!"

Charlie nodded sheepishly. He stood to follow Willy to his kitchen. "Mom and Dad said to have leftovers. We could make turkey sandwiches."

Willy looked over his shoulder at his young friend. "We can do better than that!" He checked his refrigerator. "How about turkey tacos?"

Charlie blinked. _Tacos?_ "Okay," he responded uncertainly. He rubbed a finger on the counter, tracing the pattern there. "Have you ever had pizza?" Charlie asked wistfully.

Willy turned around. "Would you rather have turkey pizza?"

"Can you make pizza out of turkey?" The boy looked up at his friend, his eyes turning blue green, bright with curiosity.

"Sure! You can make pizza out of almost anything." Willy grabbed his cane and waved Charlie to come with him. "Let's get some of that turkey and I'll make the best pizza you've ever had! We'll make enough for everybody. How's that?"

"I've never had pizza," Charlie admitted with a small smile.

"Well, it's about time you did!" Willy responded with a big grin.

Returning with what Willy deemed was a sufficient amount of turkey for an extra large pizza; the candy maker proceeded to show Charlie how to fix a pizza. First, he put some logs in his fireplace and started a fire. This puzzled Charlie, but he didn't question it. After all, what did he know about pizza? All he knew was all of his fellow students thought it was great. While the blaze got going good, Willy whipped together a crust. After rolling it out with his rolling pin, he and Charlie both laughed as Willy tossed it into the air, spinning it around, somehow making it spread out further. He laid it on a wood block on the counter and looked at Charlie. "What else do you want on your pizza?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pizzas have lots of things on them. You can have a Hawaiian pizza with pineapple and ham. Or maybe a pepperoni, sausage, bacon and ground beef pizza? You can have olives, mushrooms, peppers, banana peppers, and onions. You can have chicken, anchovies or ham. Or any combination you can think up!" He nodded. "Oh, pizza sauce is usually tomato based and you normally have cheese as well."

Charlie looked startled. He stared at Willy, only to realize he was serious. He thought about it for a moment. "Mushrooms, olives and chicken?"

"With the turkey?"

Charlie nodded. He watched as Willy brushed the crust with garlic butter, spread a thick red sauce and then started to shred mozzarella and provolone on it. He followed that with a thick layer of the toppings Charlie had chosen and then added another lighter layer of mozzarella and provolone. He finished by grating some parmesan and Romano on top. Willy walked over to the fireplace and checked how it was burning. Satisfied with what he found, he put on fireproof mitts and carefully positioned a thick grate above the fire. He pulled a wooden shovel like thing out of his pantry and gently slid the pizza on to it. He walked back to the fireplace and slipped the pizza on to the grate. He smiled at Charlie. "Wood fired pizza is the best," he informed him. "Since I don't have a real pizza oven I make do with my fireplace."

"Do you have pizza often?"

Willy shook his head, only to change it to a nod. "Once or twice a month," he almost added the Oompa-Loompas loved it. They always wanted it when they did rock and roll nights.

Charlie looked at the size of the pizza and looked at Willy. "Don't you have a lot left over?"

Willy shrugged. "Leftover pizza is good." He smiled, "Better than leftover turkey! You quickly tire of leftover turkey."

Charlie grinned as he tasted his first pizza. Both of them declared the turkey-chicken pizza a success. He wondered what his parents would think when they tried their share. The boy idly spun around on the stool he was sitting on. He considered Willy and his father. Even though he'd forced Willy to wear those horrible braces and had abandoned him, Willy obviously had still loved him very much. Had his father loved him too? Given the letter he had left for his son to find, apparently he had. It seemed odd to Charlie, and yet, he didn't feel experienced enough to comment on the whole situation. He wondered how old Willy had been when he was abandoned. Was this why he never said parents or family? What had happened to his mother?

"Penny for your thoughts," Willy said, looking at the boy curiously.

Charlie wrinkled his nose and smiled, his dimples showing as he flushed slightly. "You wouldn't want them."

Willy shrugged and stood, putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. He looked around. They had emptied a surprising number of boxes that morning, in spite of the emotional upheavals. The candy maker felt rather pleased by their efforts. "I need to make my bed," he stated and went to do just that. Charlie trailed behind and offered to help. They soon had the sheets and comforter neatly in place. Charlie hefted the pillow he was covering with a pillowcase. He looked at it and glanced at Willy in speculation. His friend was similarly occupied and not paying any attention to him. The boy smirked slightly as he eased closer to the chocolatier as quietly as he could.

Charlie swung the pillow at Willy, hitting him in the face. He grinned up at the shocked man. Willy blinked and stared at Charlie. His look moved to the pillow he had been hit with and then to the pillow he was holding. He started to say something, stopped, shook his head and looked again. Just in time to get hit by the pillow in the back of his head! A distant memory rose and his mouth rounded in surprise. He grinned widely and swung the pillow he was holding gently at Charlie. That was the signal! The friends swung wildly at each other, trying to duck and dodge at the same time. The pillows from Willy's bed flew everywhere as they fought. Willy finally collapsed on his bed from laughing too hard. Charlie flopped down beside him. They grinned at each other and chuckled as their breath returned.

"That was fun!" Willy giggled madly. He had never thought he would be involved in a pillow fight! It was wonderful having Charlie with him. He stared at his ceiling. The day could have been so awful, full of bad memories and pain. Instead, Charlie was making it enjoyable and wonderful. The chocolatier felt incredibly grateful. He wanted Charlie to stay; he wanted to show him all the marvelous things in his chocolate factory. He wanted to introduce him to his other friends, the Oompa-Loompas. He knew they would like him too! Of course, he would have to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Bucket also, but that would be all right as long as they stayed as well.

Willy's brow furrowed as he thought about it. How could he convince them? He turned his gaze on his friend. "Charlie, how do I convince your mom and dad to live here?"

The boy sighed and frowned. "I don't know." He hesitated for a moment, considering. "I think they feel that it's like accepting charity." He said slowly. "They're proud that they've managed as well as they have on their own. They don't want charity." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"It's not!" Willy protested. He sat up and looked at his feet. "I think having you here is good for me. That means it isn't charity. Doesn't it?"

"It's good for me, too," Charlie answered and sighed. "I don't know how to make them understand that." He got up and pulled on Willy's hand. "Come on. Let's pick up your pillows."

Willy nodded and pondered their problem as they gathered the scattered pillows, putting cases on them and placing them on his bed. He didn't know either. Why did adults have to be so hard to understand?


	42. Chapter 41 Revelations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

**A.N. **Sorry! Apologies for the delays and not responding to reviews for the last chapter. I'll try to catch up with everyone!

* * *

**Chapter 41 - Revelations**

Willy was muttering darkly to himself as he scribbled flavor ideas on a piece of paper, only to crumple it and start over again. He had begged off dinner with the Buckets, claiming that he had work to do in the factory and would eat later. He hadn't been lying as he really did have work, but that wasn't why he'd skipped dinner. Wonka was desperately trying to think of some way to get the Buckets to stay. He'd even briefly considered turning himself into a (_shudder_) child again. He decided that might be used as a last resort.

Most of the Oompa-Loompas, recognizing the signs, stayed away from their employer. Richard, observing from the doorway to the Inventing Room, wished there was a way to banish the dark storm cloud currently hanging over the chocolatier. The simplest solution was to ask the Buckets to stay. Willy had assured him repeatedly that he had asked and they were still determined to go. The chieftain sighed and hoped that his news would brighten Dear Heart's mood. Perhaps then he would be more open to finding a viable solution to the problem really plaguing him. He walked up to man and tugged gently on his trousers.

Willy Wonka jumped with a start and looked down, his brow furrowed, almost scowling. "Yes?"

Richard bowed grandly and announced his news. "Some floberties and wumbles have been seen entering the cocoa forest."

Willy's eyes widened and he dropped his banana pencil in surprise. "Really? Truly?"

Richard nodded in confirmation. He was pleased as the stormy look faded from his friend's face and the sun came out with a bright, eager smile.

"Wow!" Willy jumped up from his stool in excitement. "Wow! Do you think it's safe to see them? I won't scare them away, will I?" He knelt down using his cane for balance, waiting anxiously for the answer.

"It should be alright," Richard answered. Willy did know how to move quietly around the animals in the factory if there was need. Of course, many of them responded just as well when Willy exuded his normally buoyant good mood. He believed they sensed the man's inherently gentle nature, though Willy had longed denied any such thing existed in him. He was vehement in claiming he was a grumpy, misanthropic recluse.

The pair walked to the Great Glass Elevator. Richard could feel Willy practically vibrating with his anticipation. The trip felt shorter than normal, but then the elevator did seem to respond to its creator's moods. Willy cautiously peeked out as the doors slide open with a merry ding. He looked around, wide eyed, trying to spot a flobertie or wumble. Richard walked out and looked around. He suddenly chuckled.

Startled Willy glanced down at him curiously. The Oompa-Loompa laughed and pointed behind the candy maker. He spun around, but didn't see anything. Richard laughed merrily. A flobertie was hovering behind Willy, staying carefully and exactly behind him as it seemed to inspect the stranger. The man frowned slightly and ever so slowly peeked over one shoulder. "Oh!" Willy smiled and tried to be still as the flobertie examined him all over. It finally decided to land on the chocolatier's shoulder, its vibrant multicolored, iridescent plumage was a brilliant contrast to Willy's black coat, its long, curly tail feathers trailing down the man's back. This one was covered in bright blues, copper, reds and greens. The flobertie trilled a delicate song, its rising descant a sign of its pleasure.

Willy had a dreamy smile on his face as he listened to the beautiful singing. It made him feel so warm inside! He couldn't quite believe it, but all of his worries and fears and concerns just seemed to melt away, leaving a feeling of peace and happiness behind.

Richard observed Dear Heart as he wandered slowly deeper into the cocoa forest, a feeling of serenity seemed to radiate from the chocolatier. Everything, the trees and grass, the monkeys and bees, even the Oompa-Loompas appeared to be soothed as Willy gave himself over to the flobertie. A wumble busily flittered after the flobertie and Willy, intent on some notion of its own. The chieftain chuckled merrily and went to see if there was anything that needed attending. He wanted their employer and friend left to his new found peace for as long as possible.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie missed Willy, but couldn't fault him for not being there. He probably had a lot of work, neglected over the last couple of days. It didn't help that his parents were intently scouring the paper, noting down potential apartments around town. The boy frowned as he stared, unseeing, at the open page of his book. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't they stay here? It was close to his school and not that far out of the way from Smilex. Willy had said that he was good for him. He knew the candy maker was telling the truth. He'd seen it in his eyes and in the way he was opening up.

The boy shifted slightly and turned the page in pretence of reading. He knew life had been cruel to Willy Wonka. He probably now knew it better than any one, except for Willy himself. Leaving would just be one more blow to his heart, fragile and hurting from the earlier mistreatment. He looked over to where the photo album sat on the coffee table and exchanged the novel for it. Flipping to where he'd left off, he stared at the pictures of his friend. He wondered about the wide grins and sparkling eyes. Were they too bright? Had Willy placed too much effort in hiding his real self so no one else would discover his pain? Had he tried to hide himself so no one would hurt him more?

Charlie turned the page and was surprised to find some lose pieces of paper. They looked terribly official and important. His eyes automatically started to read, only to widen in shock. Emancipation? What did that mean? Why would Willy need to be emancipated? The only thing he could remember was the Emancipation Proclamation signed by Abraham Lincoln. He shook his head. It didn't make any sense. He peered over at where his parents sat and thought about asking them. He glanced back down at the papers uncertainly. Maybe he should wait and ask Willy instead. He read some more and felt stunned. It couldn't be! "Mom? Dad?"

"Yes, Charlie?" His mother looked up and smiled.

"How old were you when you met Willy?"

His parents exchanged thoughtful looks, pondering the question. "We were sixteen, I think," his father finally answered. His mother nodded in agreement.

"How old do you think Willy was?"

"Willy?" His mother blinked and considered it. "Twenty or twenty one, I guess. Why?"

"Because from what it says here he was fourteen when he opened his candy shop," Charlie informed his startled parents, holding up the papers.

"Are you sure, Charlie?" Mr. Bucket stood and walked over to his son, sitting on the couch beside him. He looked at the papers. "Holy Buckets! He's right," he told his wife in astonishment.

Mrs. Bucket hurried over to join them. "How could a fourteen year old boy, a child, open a candy shop? Who, in their right mind, would allow such a thing? How did he make everyone think he was older?"

"It looks like a Judge Thompson signed the papers, dear." Mr. Bucket scanned the documents. "Willy Wilhelm William Willoughby Willard Wilmer Wilton Wilfred Wilbur Wonka? My word that is more than a mouthful! These papers state that since Willy was alone and had received 'uncertain and unreliable care' by adults and having proved himself to be intelligent and resourceful by earning his high school diploma early and creating a thorough, well thought out business plan, the authority of the courts declare and decree that he be tentatively granted the rights and privileges of an adult along with the responsibilities. If after a period of six months, he proves himself capable and financially independent, he will be permanently emancipated."

"What does that mean?" Charlie asked in a serious tone.

"Well, Charlie, it meant that if Willy managed to take care of himself and earn a living for six months, he'd be considered an adult."

"An adult at fourteen?"

His father nodded. "He'd have to keep a roof over his head, feed and cloth himself, would be able to make decisions about his health and care, buy, sell and own property, pretty much everything an adult can do. Well, he couldn't drive a car or buy alcoholic beverages until he was old enough, because those require a person be a specific age, but he could do everything else."

"What about child labor laws?" Mrs. Bucket asked, frowning in thought.

Mr. Bucket nodded slowly. "He would have to obey those."

"What does that mean?" Charlie asked.

"It means Willy broke the law because he worked too many hours in his shop while underage," Mrs. Bucket declared, appalled at the notion. Hadn't the man ever been allowed to be a child?

"We don't know that, dear," Mr. Bucket said.

"Oh? We both spent enough time hanging out in that shop with your father to know how much time Willy spent working."

"He did live there."

Mrs. Bucket stared at her husband. He finally shrugged, conceding that Willy had indeed probably exceeded the work hours allowed for minors. "That poor boy," she exclaimed.

"He would have been nineteen when he opened the factory," Mr. Bucket commented slowly, "and twenty or twenty one when he had to close it . . ." He trailed off as he exchanged horrified looks with his wife. They hugged each other, Charlie squeezed between them, as they realized that truth.

Charlie jerked slightly, listening closely. "Willy's back," he told his parents as he heard the muffled tapping of his cane.

Mr. Bucket stood up and walked to the door, opening it. "Willy?"

The chocolatier froze, his heart thudding. "Ye-yes, Mr. Bucket?" _Oh dear, are they already leaving? They just got here!_

"Please come in," he invited their host formally, not guessing how much he was upsetting the candy maker.

Willy slowly followed Mr. Bucket into the Ivy Suite and removed his hat, sitting it and his cane on a table beside the door. His eyes immediately locked with Charlie's, pleading for an idea of what was going on. The boy tried to smile reassuringly, but it was a bit uncertain as he was still trying to process the new information about his friend. This only served to make Willy more nervous as the squeak of his gloves attested.

"We," Mr. Bucket cleared his throat. He didn't know how to proceed. He didn't want it to sound like they were interrogating the man! He held out the papers.

Willy reached out and accepted them. His first feeling was one of relief as he realized they had nothing to do with the Buckets moving out. He suddenly froze as recognition grew. "Oh, I wondered where these had gotten to." He faked a small laugh and managed a strained smile.

"Why?" Mrs. Bucket winced as the chocolatier sank down to sit in one of the nearby chairs.

Willy stared at the document and wondered how much or, rather, how little he could get away with telling the Buckets. They didn't need to know everything! If they found out all of it, they would be gone all the sooner. He sighed and started talking, not looking up. "After Papa left . . ."

"He abandoned you at fourteen?" Mrs. Bucket interrupted, angry on Willy's behalf, though he didn't realize it.

Willy shook his head. "I was thirteen," he said softly. "They put me in a . . ." He trailed off, mentally cursing his problem saying certain things.

"An orphanage?" Mr. Bucket guessed.

Willy shook his head and tried to force the words out. His mouth managed to shape itself for the first sound, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't even manage the slightest bit of those dreaded words.

Mrs. Bucket blinked, feeling a sting in her eyes. She considered. Where would the authorities send a child without a home? It came to her. "A foster home?"

Willy nodded, grateful to not have to say it. "They weren't very nice. There were four of us, me, two other boys and a girl." A distant look grew on his face as he remembered. He had been the oldest of the foster children and as such was placed in charge of the others. He was the one expected to clean the house and cook the meals. He had to keep the others quiet so They weren't disturbed. Willy jumped to his feet in alarm at a touch on his arm. Startled, he looked down to see Charlie staring at him in surprise. Both of them had been shocked by the man's sudden movement and released their breath slowly.

Mrs. Bucket exchanged a look with Mr. Bucket. "Why don't you get Willy something to drink, Charlie?"

The boy got a stubborn look on his face. His eyes narrowed. "Why? So you can ask Willy if he was abused?" Charlie stared up at his friend and leaned forward to hug the trembling man, trying to reassure him. "Were you? Did those horrible people touch you in the wrong places?" The Buckets stared at their son in distress, wondering when he'd learned about such things.

Willy slowly shook his head. "He wanted Tre. I could see it in his eyes. I had to make sure she wasn't left alone with Him," he answered slowly, his voice distant and faint. That had earned him a few beatings, but he'd been willing to pay the price to protect her. He shook his head and looked around in a daze.

_The poor dear_, Mrs. Bucket thought. She tried to think of what to say. Failing to find the words, she sought to offer comfort, which naturally led to food. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"Huh?" Willy blinked once. "Not yet."

She immediately began to herd the candy maker toward the kitchen's eating nook. Mr. Bucket hurried to clear it of the papers they'd been scribbling addresses on. He stared at them for a moment, before dropping them in the trash can. Charlie saw that and felt relieved. He made sure he stayed close to his bewildered friend as he slowly sat down.

Willy was shocked at the amount of food Mrs. Bucket placed in front of him. Surely he wasn't expected to eat all of it! He nibbled a few bites, not really feeling hungry, at least not until he tasted the food. He suddenly realized he was starving, lunch was a distant memory. Slowly, Willy and the Buckets relaxed again.

Charlie smiled gently at Willy, who felt relief that they weren't horrified by him and running away yet. As they adjusted, the boy patted his friend's arm, before taking a sip of the milk his mother had given him so Willy wouldn't feel like they were all watching him. Mr. Bucket turned to the crossword puzzle in the paper as Mrs. Bucket moved around tidying things up.

Willy smiled down at Charlie from around a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed and wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, before reaching for his own milk. He paused and eyed the boy questioningly as he realized he was staring at the back of his head.

"What's happened to your hair?"

Willy frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"It's puffed way up in the back," Charlie told him, kneeling up on the stool to look more closely.

Slowly, the chocolatier reached around to feel the back of his head. He froze as he felt something move. Carefully, with gentle fingers, he extracted a fuzzy ball of purple, red and orange from under his hair. He stared at it in surprise, part of him very grateful for the distraction. "How did you get there?"

"What is it?" Charlie examined the ball curiously. He started when it moved in the palm of Willy's hand. Wings came out and it flew up to crawl back into Willy's soft hair.

"Hey! Stop that!" Willy ordered and cautiously fished it back out again. He held it out for the Buckets to see more clearly. "This is a wumble. I don't know what he thinks he's doing in my hair though." He hastily curled his fingers to trap the wumble when it tried to fly again. "My hair is not for you to live in," he told it firmly, shaking a finger at tiny little eyes that had appeared at one end. "You're supposed to build homes in the cocoa trees where the floberties nest. Do you want to pet him?" he asked Charlie. "It's okay, they don't bite or sting."

Willy uncurled his fingers so Charlie could gently stroke the fuzzy wumble. The boy giggled. "He's so soft! It tickles!"

Willy giggled and looked at the adults staring at them in shock. "Do you want to pet him?"

Mr. Bucket leaned forward to examine the creature more closely. "Is it an insect?"

Willy grinned. "You never know for sure, do you?" He winked at Charlie and pushed his hand toward the man. "Go on! Pet him!"

Cautiously using one finger, Mr. Bucket touched the wumble. "He is very soft," he acknowledged, awed to be touching something he had never even known existed.

The wumble climbed one of Willy's fingers. His wings came out again and vibrated for a moment, before it took off again. This time it flew over to Mrs. Bucket who leaned back in alarm as it zipped around to her hair. "What's it doing?" She asked nervously. The wumble flew around her a few times, before zooming back over to Willy and crawling into his hair once more.

Willy frowned. "You can't stay there! How would I sleep? On my stomach?" He shook his head and stood. "Excuse me. I have to take him back to the cocoa trees." He snatched up his cane and top hat as he walked out the door, muttering to himself. He just hoped he didn't pick up any more hitchhikers when he dropped this one off!


	43. Chapter 42 Bad News

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc-o-c****i-****ol-****o-****gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

-----------

**Chapter 42 - Bad News**

Willy's rather abrupt return startled the Oompa-Loompas until they found out about the wumble. This caused many of them to giggle madly. Edmund, however, saw something disturbing in his patient's face. Something, he did not know what, was bothering Willy Wonka deeply. He followed him from a distance, feeling sad, because he knew that whatever it was, Willy was not about to share that knowledge, not even with him. He did the only thing he could, keeping watch over Dear Heart as he tried to persuade the wumble that building a new home in amongst the cocoa trees was far better than a candy maker's hair. His suspicions were confirmed when a nesting pair of floberties sang a melancholy, bittersweet melody to the chocolatier.

Their song soon was joined by several nearby floberties and changed to something soothing and peaceful. Willy, still trying to convince the wumble to find a home among the trees, sat beneath one of the largest and eldest of the cocoa trees. He gently placed the wumble up on the bark above his head, only to have it flit down to his hair once more. It was joined by a blue, red and yellow wumble. Willy sighed, wondering why the wumbles liked his hair so much and how to get them to stay out of it. He didn't understand that the sweet scents that clung to him and his clothes were tempting and wonderful to the little creatures. They had never encountered such a marvelous mix of fragrances! The softness of his hair was just a bonus as far as they were concerned.

Edmund kept watch as Willy's eyes slid shut and he slowly slipped into dreamlands, his nightmares and flashbacks kept at bay by the soft singing of the newest inhabitants of his magnificent factory. His patient was soon covered, snug and warm, by snoozing wumbles as they settled on his clothing and hair.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy spent the next couple of days darting around the factory and playing with Charlie. In between, he fought off memories and flashbacks and wondered how to get Mr. and Mrs. Buckets to stay, little guessing that they were now leaning in that direction in their thoughts and discussions.

Monday was overcast and chilly as Charlie returned to school and Mr. Bucket to work. Willy busied himself with maintenance on the machinery, candy experiments, thinking up new ideas and encouraging a sickly candy plant to grow strong. The wumbles continued to flit into his hair every chance they got, but the candy maker had adapted, as he so often did, carefully and gently removing them when he left the cocoa forest greenhouse. Occasionally, when one was particularly persistent, he would let it stay there for part of the day as he performed his duties in the factory.

As time neared for school to let out, Willy's attention drifted to his pocket watch. He paused, considering, and finally decided to go for his neglected walk. He could meet up with Charlie in the park and they could return to the factory together. Decided, he went and collected his black great coat and headed out.

Willy Wonka hummed softly to himself as he strolled on the now familiar paths. His smile brightened as he spotted his young friend, only to flatten and thin as he saw a movement behind some bare bushes. That wasn't a squirrel, bird or any other animal. A sly look filled his violet eyes as he changed directions, leaving the footpaths. He moved silently and stealthily nearer the teenagers stalking Charlie Bucket.

Charlie gasped as the three much larger teens sprang out at him. His fear turned to puzzlement as one fell flat on his face. The other two turned to their friend, ready to jeer his clumsiness, only to freeze as they spotted the man dressed in a long, black coat, a top hat and cane.

Willy smirked to himself, while keeping his face expressionless. It had been much too easy to sneak up on the bullies and trip one up with his walking cane. He stood straight and tall. In spite of the fact that one of the teenagers was already taller than him and all three were bigger, he managed to loom menacingly over them, filling them with dread. The chocolatier narrowed his eyes under the brim of his hat and gave Charlie a warning with an infinitesimal shake of his head. The boy held his silence and watched anxiously as his slender friend confronted the trio of bullies.

"Uh," one of them started and fumbled to a halt.

"That is extremely intelligent," Wonka responded, his tone full of sarcasm. "Now what have we here? Three against one and any one of you would make at least three of him. Such bravery! Perhaps you are just the ones to get rid of a baby bird."

The three bullies gaped at him for a moment, before flushing with anger. One stepped forward, his large hand curling into a fist.

"Of course you would have to deal with its parents first," Willy continued as he spread his arms. A pair of hawks flashed down to land on his forearms with piercing screeches.

The three teenaged boys staggered back behind Charlie in shock as the raptors turned their heads to one side. Their gold eyes captured the boys' in their glare as they opened their strong hooked beaks to scream and flap their wings wide.

Wonka smiled wickedly. "Run."

The bullies took the stranger's advice, fleeing in terror as if all the hounds of Hell were breathing down their necks.

Charlie swallowed and stared at his friend and the pair of birds in astonishment. Willy giggled, before making a pained face. "Did you have to grab so hard?" He complained to the hawks who somehow managed to look embarrassed. The man shook his head. "There are rats sneaking in a hole at the rear of the Rainbow Candy Shop, near that little, bent fir tree. I would appreciate it if you would take care of that little problem." They blinked and craned their necks to look at the chocolatier. He huffed in offense. "I'll have you know they sell my candy there as well as their own." With soft cries, the hawks beat their wings and ascended high into the air. "Ow," Willy breathed softly and examined his arms. The Oompa-Loompas were not going to appreciate having to repair the rips in his sleeves.

Charlie gently touched Willy's wrist. "Are you all right?" He asked anxiously.

"Of course, dear boy," Willy exclaimed, ignoring the trickles of blood he felt. "They just don't know their own strength. It's nothing." He tossed his cane in the air and caught it half way down the shaft. "Let's go home, shall we?"

Charlie nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice full of gratitude. He glanced back the way the bullies had fled. "I wonder what they'll say."

Willy shrugged. "Probably nothing since they don't want to sound like cowards or crazy." He knew no one would believe them if they did tell anyone. Maybe they would think twice before picking on Charlie or some other little kid. A surge of satisfaction smothered the pain in his arms.

Charlie was relieved to follow Willy to the gates of the chocolate factory. He had not been certain he could enter unseen, but his friend managed it easily. He casually looked up and down the street, before crossing. A smile quirked one corner of Willy's mouth and he unlocked the side gate, letting Charlie precede him inside. The friends slipped unnoticed into the mammoth building that towered over the little city.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie regaled his mom with the story of Willy, the bullies and the hawks. While the candy maker blushed, Mrs. Bucket was torn between gratitude and concern. She insisted on checking Willy's arms and clucked over the torn sleeves of his frockcoat and shirt. She made him roll up his sleeves and frowned in worry at the matching gashes in his skin. In spite of Wonka's protests, she cleaned the wounds gently, but thoroughly and wrapped the shallow cuts in clean bandages.

"You said you were all right," Charlie stared up at his friend.

"I am. These little things will be healed in next to no time. In two days, you would hardly know they were there!" That was the truth as Willy Wonka saw it. His multiple sleeves were thick enough to minimize the damage to something that he could both readily dismiss and ignore.

"I want that shirt and your coats, Willy," Mrs. Bucket informed him in no uncertain terms. "I'll sew those tears up for you."

Willy opened his mouth to protest that his tailors could handle the mending, only to snap it shut at the last second. He kept forgetting the Buckets didn't know about his work force. He fussed quietly at himself in irritation, before nodding reluctantly. He sighed and placed his chin in the palm of his hand as he leaned his elbow on the breakfast bar.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked.

"I wish your p-p-p. . ."

"Parents," he supplied.

Willy nodded. "Yeah, them! I wish they would agree to stay here!"

"We've been discussing it," Mrs. Bucket stated calmly.

The candy maker immediately perked up. "Really?"

"Yes," she nodded and pushed her hair from her face.

"When will you decide?" Willy demanded.

She smiled kindly before answering. "Give us a week or two to make sure we all find it agreeable. We don't want to intrude, dear."

Willy huffed. "If you were intruding, I would have already said so," he told Charlie in annoyance. Mrs. Bucket laughed and patted his arm gently, before turning her attention back to fixing dinner.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie eagerly retold his story of Willy's rescue to his father over dinner. Mr. Bucket listened in amazement and gratitude. He thanked Willy profusely for his timely intervention; much to the chocolatier's discomfiture.

While Charlie went to check on Oriana's dinner, Mr. Bucket gestured for Willy to stay. Once his son was out of earshot, he turned to Mrs. Bucket and their host. "I'm afraid I got some bad news today."

"What?" Mrs. Bucket asked anxiously, her eyes filling with worry.

Not having any way to make it sound better, Mr. Bucket told his news plainly. "They fired us."

Willy gasped as Mrs. Bucket hugged her husband tightly. "Why?" Smilex, while small, had been doing well on the market. They shouldn't have a reason to fire their employees.

"They've replaced all the cap screwers with a machine."

Willy sat back with a frown. A machine? Why after all these years . . . He sat forward as he recognized the truth. "They bought it with their profits." He nodded. "My candy sales have been up and so have the sales of toothpaste." He frowned again as he put the facts together. "It's my fault." Willy's sales had indeed been rising, an increase that had started after the candy maker met a certain little boy in a park, though he didn't realize that fact.

"Nonsense, Willy! You didn't make them decide to buy a machine." Mr. Bucket responded. Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement. He tried to smile. "I just have to find a new job."

"I-I could give you a job. . . Maybe?" Willy offered anxiously. He tried to think of what Mr. Bucket could do. The machinery was geared for Oompa-Loompas now. Still, he was an intelligent man. Maybe he could help with the maintenance Willy had to do?

"No, Willy," Mr. Bucket stated firmly. "It's very kind of you to offer, but I, we," he shared a look with his wife, "know you don't want people in your factory. Well, in the factory proper," he added, remembering they were living inside it now. "I'll find another job somewhere."

Willy nodded slowly and sadly as he answered, "'kay, but the offer will stay open."

"Thank you, Willy. I'll keep it in mind." Mr. Bucket stood. "I'll need to get the newspaper and see what other offers are available."

Willy shook his head. "Wait for the morning paper. It will have the latest openings."

Mr. Bucket considered that and nodded in agreement. "Alright, I will. Now how about watching a movie?" He smiled more readily. He and his family would survive as they always did. He tried to look at this positively as a new opportunity for something better. Fortunately, they wouldn't have to worry about food or a roof over their heads or keeping warm. Willy Wonka would see to that. He tried to think of it as something other than charity. As they watched Willy go fetch Charlie, Mr. and Mrs. Buckets remembered all that had happened since their son first met the reclusive chocolatier. They began to consider their being there in a new light, that of friends helping and taking care of each other.


	44. Chapter 43 Strangely Appealing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**choc-o-ci-ol-o-gy** _n._ 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. _o._ from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, _bitter_ + atl, _water_.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

* * *

**Chapter 43 - Strangely Appealing**

Charlie leaned against the window and peered outside. He glanced over at Willy who was busily scribbling something at his desk. "Where did the hawks come from?" he finally asked.

"Huh?" Willy looked up, a bit dazed to be pulled out of his thoughts. "Did you say something, Charlie?"

"I asked where the hawks came from, the ones you got to help you chase off those bullies."

"Oh," Willy stood and came over to sit down beside his young friend. He pointed up at one of the towering smokestacks. "Do you see that ledge way up there?"

Charlie nodded, though he didn't see what that had to do with his question.

"Well, two summers ago," Willy paused and thought about it. "Was it really two summers ago? Wow. Anyway, a pair of hawks built a nest up there."

"And you made friends with them."

Willy shook his head. "No. After the eggs hatched, before the pair of babies fledged, they disappeared." He and Charlie sighed sadly.

"You fed the babies?"

"Yeah, until they were old enough to fend for themselves," Willy answered.

"And now they're your friends?"

The candy maker nodded. "I instructed them on things that were safe and not safe when living with people. You know stay out of the roads; watch out for power lines, all that stuff. If they can't find food, I told them to come here, but they usually can. And sometimes they take care of little things for me."

"Like the rats at that candy shop and bullies," Charlie said with laughter in his voice.

"Yeah," Willy smiled at the boy, "like that."

"How do you know how to talk to them? The squirrels and cats and hawks, I mean." Charlie looked up at his friend, his eyes bright blue with curiosity.

Willy flinched slightly and his hands fidgeted. He looked around his office, as if considering where he could find an excuse to leave. Anything, except answer Charlie's innocent question! He shrugged slightly, not looking at him. "I just do." He winced inside at the lie. He shouldn't lie to Charlie! He was his friend! And yet, he could not find it in himself to admit the truth.

Charlie shook his head and gently touched the distracted man. He didn't like the look that had grown in Willy's eyes which seemed to have paled to a dull gray hue. "Willy," he spoke carefully and quietly, "you don't have to answer it if you don't want to." Willy peered down at Charlie in astonishment. The boy nodded his head and stated firmly. "You never have to answer any question you don't want to answer."

Timidly, feeling a deep well of liberation, Willy nodded slightly.

"Speaking of questions that no one wants to answer," Charlie continued, frowning in thought. "Do you know what's bothering my parents?"

Willy slowly nodded silently in response.

"Will you tell me? Please?"

The chocolatier sighed and wondered why Charlie Bucket always seemed so much more mature. "Mr. Bucket and the other cap screwers lost their job. They replaced them with a machine."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Charlie asked seriously, certain his friend would be able to think of something.

Willy thought for a moment. "I offered him a job here, but he wouldn't take it. I don't know what else to do."

"Dad's looking for a new job in the paper, right? What sort of jobs?"

Willy shrugged. "I don't know. Do you want to look? We can check the newspaper's website for their job listings."

"Yes!" Charlie immediately bounced to his feet. He'd already learned that Willy didn't have internet access in his office. His friend had said it was to keep hackers away from his business information, but Charlie suspected it might be to keep temptation away as well. The internet had all sorts of interesting things on it.

The candy maker also stood and led the way to his office's door. The two friends peeked cautiously out into the hallway. Both knew that they didn't want to get caught doing this, though Willy did briefly wonder why. It wasn't like Charlie's mom and dad knew they were checking up on his dad's job search, not unless they actually said something.

Finding the coast was clear, the friends hurried toward the library. Willy carefully closed the door behind them. No reason to invite curiosity. Charlie hurried to the P.C. with internet access and sat at the keyboard. "How do I find their website?"

Willy explained about web addresses, bookmarks and doing searches. Because he sometimes visited the newspaper's site, he had it bookmarked. They were soon there, staring at the job listings. Charlie scanned a few and shook his head. "Dad wouldn't be interested in any of these."

"We need to narrow it down, Charlie, to the ones he would be interested in. A lot of these are for clerical work, sales people or part timers." He pointed to a drop down menu and a search box. "See, we can use those to cut out things he wouldn't care about."

Charlie carefully worked his way through the search and criteria forms with some coaching from Willy. They still ended up with a lot to go through, but decided to check them anyway. They were almost through the long, boring list when something caught Willy's eye. "Ha, wouldn't it be ironic if Mr. Bucket got that job?" He pointed at the offer.

Charlie started to read it, only to turn and stare at the chocolatier. "Maintenance and repair for the machine that replaced him?"

"Yeah! Your d-d-dad's smart. He fixed stuff all the time for your m-mom, right?"

Charlie slowly and thoughtfully nodded. "He doesn't know anything about that cap screwing machine though."

"Sure he does! He already knows what it's supposed to do. That's important. I bet if he had the manual or manuals, he could learn the rest in next to no time."

"Where would he get those?"

"We download them and print them out," Willy said, nudging Charlie to move over. "There aren't that many companies that make machines like that." He quickly found their website and, as he'd expected, the manuals were all there, available for download. A few clicks and the ones for the cap screwer were printing on a nearby color laser.

Charlie stared at the printer with a frown. "You don't think someone else will get the job first?"

Willy shook his head. "No. There aren't that many people who can fix specialized machines like that one. Unless they also worked at a toothpaste factory, anybody who applies won't know its functions, not like Mr. Bucket will. That knowledge will give him an edge."

Charlie sat back and looked around. "What do we do now?"

"I," Willy stated firmly, "need to check on some experiments. Why don't you find a new book to read or a movie to watch? I'll be back soon, probably before the printer is done."

**- W - C - F -**

The candy maker returned to the library less than an hour later, carefully smoothing his hair and straightening his hat. He looked at the printer and was pleased to see the last sheet of the manuals coming out into the hopper. He picked the paper up, jogging the stack slightly to make sure it was even and flipping through to separate the two manuals from each other. Willy placed the two stacks of paper on the desk and sat down so he could rummage in the drawers.

What followed was a complete accident, as Charlie came out of the video room to find his friend had returned, just as Willy swung his chair around to pull out two thicker pieces of paper from a shelf under the printer stand. The chair bumped into the boy who fell back, the two movies he'd been carrying falling from his hands and skidding across the floor.

Willy Wonka immediately froze, an instinctive reaction developed from working with the much smaller Oompa-Loompas. "Oh dear, are you alright Charlie?"

Charlie nodded as he rubbed his leg where he'd been hit. Willy puffed a breath out in relief. The friends got down on their knees to look for the dropped DVDs. Willy looked under the desk he'd been sitting at while Charlie looked under a couple of chairs. He found one movie, but couldn't find the other.

"Do you see it?" Charlie asked, peeking under the desk to look at Willy.

"Ah," Willy said, tilting his head to look at Charlie, "no."

"I only found one of them. Where could it be?" He felt bad that he'd lost one of Willy's movies like that.

Wonka scratched his head, puzzled himself. While the cases were small, they definitely weren't that small! He peered around some more. "Which one disappeared?"

Charlie looked at the movie in his hands. "Pirates of the Caribbean," he answered.

Willy sat up and frowned slightly. "I still don't see how a movie based off a doggone amusement park ride could be interesting!"

"Then why do you have it?" Charlie asked, sitting up to look over the desk at his friend.

Willy started to answer, only to quickly stop himself. He'd suddenly thought of where the movie could have gone. The Oompa-Loompas had installed several little trap doors around the factory in the more frequently visited rooms, to help them get back to the important candy rooms quickly. Most of them led to slides and one of them happened to be in the library, not that far from where he and Charlie were. "I have to check on something. Be right back!"

Willy didn't wait for a response as he hastily rose to his feet and darted for the elevator. In his hurry, he wasn't paying close attention and smacked right into the doors. Willy fell flat on his back. He raised his arm in the air. "I'm okay," he called as he climbed back to his feet, straightening his top hat once more. He pushed the button to open the doors, walked inside and waved slightly at Charlie who was looking at him in bewilderment from the library's doorway. The elevator shot off to the right.

"That is a very strange elevator," Charlie murmured to himself. He shook his head as he went back to search for the DVD and wait for Willy's return. He wondered what he had to check on so suddenly. It was most peculiar. However, if Willy didn't want to explain, he was not going to try and find out.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy scurried into the Powder Room, looking around. Spotting the DVD case at the spot where the slide would exit the wall as he had expected, he bent to pick it up. One of the Oompa-Loompa workers tugged on his trousers to get his attention. He knelt to listen to him and nodded thoughtfully. Willy stood, signed his understanding, crossed his arms and returned the little man's bow. He hastened to return to his friend, pondering the new information. He'd have to figure out a new way to keep the Nice Ice Mice from the Bitter Cobbler. They really weren't good for each other. He sighed as the elevator dinged its arrival at Executive Row.

Charlie looked out from under the other desk as Willy walked into the library. He blinked and stared at Willy's black pants which now had a perfectly shaped tiny handprint in a whitish powdery substance below the knee. What in the world? He glanced up and immediately spotted the video case in the candy maker's hand. "Where did you find it?"

Willy halted and shrugged slightly. "The Powder Room," he answered truthfully.

_Powder room?_ Charlie stared at the mark on Willy's pants leg again. He blinked and shook his head. It couldn't be . . . Could it? _One of the squirrels must have made it._ He nodded at the thought, even as something in the back of his mind whispered a doubt - that was not a squirrel print! Another part was wondering how the movie had gotten there from here.

Willy laid the DVD on the desk and returned to what he'd been doing, namely binding the manuals they'd printed for Mr. Bucket. He straightened the already straight piles of paper, placed a piece of stiffer paper on the front and back of each stack before stapling each one three times down the long side with a massive stapler. After that, he pulled off long strips of yellow tape and very carefully worked to neatly seal the spines. Charlie looked puzzled as a sweet aroma wafted from the pieces of tape. Willy smiled at him. "Butterscotch tape," he explained.

"Oh," Charlie said, nodded his understanding and tried to act like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thoughts circled back to the powdery mark on Willy's leg and he glanced down. He noticed the handprint was starting to smear and no longer looked like a tiny hand had made it. He chewed his lip as he decided it must have been a coincidence that it'd look like a human hand had caused it. It was like a potato shaped like a head, just one of those things that happened. No human was that small after all, except maybe a baby and there wouldn't be any of those in the factory!

**- W - C - F -**

Mr. Bucket was quite startled when he was presented with the manuals for the cap screwing machine. He stared at his son and the candy maker, unsure of their reasons for getting them.

"We saw a listing for someone to do maintenance and repair on it," Charlie explained. "Willy says you already know what the machine is supposed to do and that's an important edge."

Wonka nodded. "You can study the manuals and get the job working on the machine that replaced you."

Mr. Bucket exchanged a look with Mrs. Bucket before answering. "That," he said slowly, "is an interesting notion." He stared at the manuals. _Interesting and strangely appealing_, he thought. He nodded and opened the first manual, sitting back to study it carefully.


	45. Chapter 44 Of Rhinoceros and Narwhals

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 44 - Of Rhinoceros and Narwhals**

Willy Wonka hid a yawn behind his hand as he stood from his stool in the Inventing Room. It was almost unnervingly quiet with most of the machines turned off and without any Oompa-Loompas around. Yet the chocolatier had come to appreciate being alone there, late at night. He was fairly certain his workers didn't realize he was returning to work after hours. It was after Charlie had gone to bed and the factory's equipment was mostly on automatic. He had started to feel like he was neglecting his beloved chocolate making in favor of his friend and he didn't like that one little bit. So he now napped after the boy went to bed, before returning to work later than usual, long after most of the Oompa-Loompas went home.

A smile of accomplishment touched his lips. He really liked the flavor he'd developed for the candy snow. It reminded him of large, fluffy white snowflakes falling and of a perfect, untouched blanket of snow with the crisp, cool air and a beautiful blue winter sky. A moment later, it would be a night sky with stars and the moon sparkling above the quiet, the soft light reflecting from the pristine white snow. The taste brought forth memories of the rarest and most perfect of winter days and nights. He carefully noted the ingredients and their portions, before filing the recipe in the Secret Cabinet.

The candy maker stretched as he cleaned up after himself. It would not do to reveal his middle of the night visits! He hummed softly, distracted by thoughts of what to work on next. Perhaps that was why he absently picked up the other candy and tasted it. The candy was supposed to make you grow a tail and horns. It contained some of his really exotic ingredients and he was not to sample it until his taste-testers pronounced it ready. The Oompa-Loompas considered The Rule absolutely necessary and essentual to keeping their dear employer safe. He had agreed a trifle reluctantly and the little workers breathed sighs of relief. With another yawn, Willy's eyes drifted close. He was soon curled up under the table, sleeping soundly.

**- W - C - F -**

The Oompa-Loompas bustled around the factory, performing their early morning equipment checks and making sure production was humming right along. The Inventing Room crew joked and jostled each other boisterously as they entered their work area. They scattered around the room, checking experiments and starting the equipment back up. Fred picked up his broom and began to sweep the perfectly clean floor. He reached the work table and his eyes widened in shock.

Fred's soft call alerted the others immediately. Unfortunately, it also woke the strange animal sleeping under the table. Crystal chimes joined the sounds of the machinery as it leapt up and across the floor. A horn brushed the button on the wall, opening one of the side doors. The Oompa-Loompas watched in distress as the creature vanished into the factory.

"Uh oh," Wally said, voicing the feelings of the others. They stared at each other as David went to alert Richard to the fact that apparently Dear Heart had accidentally been transformed into yet another animal. The chieftain immediately activated their emergency plans for the contingency, none of them wanting a repeat of the last time when Willy had become a beautifully colored, exotic bird and almost flown out through one of the stacks. That had been years ago, shortly after they had first arrived and was the direct cause of The Rule being issued.

All over the factory, Oompa-Loompas left their work to search. Richard pinched his nose and asked, "What is he this time?"

David shrugged helplessly. He had admittedly only seen the animal for a very brief moment, it had been amazingly fast. He had not really recognized it though. "Maybe a deer or gazelle," he guessed.

"We need to know for sure so we can setup something to lure Willy out." That meant getting into the library . . . Without the Buckets spotting them! Unfortunately, due to the shelves, there weren't any hidden doors into the room, only the ones leading out. He sighed, resigned to breaking the ban on entering Executive Row. Of course, if Willy had stayed out of the Candy Horns like he was supposed to have done, they wouldn't be breaking his injunction. Given how quickly Willy had disappeared, this was an apparently very shy animal. Richard was positive the candy maker would successfully avoid them until they could set out bait for him. Willy claimed the little tribe knew the factory better than anyone. Richard was just as certain Willy Wonka knew ways around that even they hadn't discovered yet.

Fortunately, it was still early so Richard led his tiny hunting party toward their destination, assured the Buckets were still sound asleep in the Ivy Suite. The group darted out of the Great Glass Elevator and down the hallway, eyes scanning for signs of the guests. He sighed in relief as he pressed the almost invisible button below the doorknob. Since it was less than knee high to the larger humans, no one except an Oompa-Loompa (or Willy Wonka since he had designed and installed them) would know it was there. The knob turned silently and he pushed the door open.

The Oompa-Loompas made a beeline for the massive zoology book. Willy had ordered the amazingly complete guide after his third transformation. While the Oompa-Loompas experienced unusual side effects when testing the exotic candies, Willy would turn into various creatures. When he'd become something they hadn't recognized, he knew the time would come when they would need to identify his new form for some reason. The guide was the best he could find (which was the absolute best in the world) and had been neglected since The Rule's implementation.

The Oompa-Loompas anxiously found the section on herbivores and scanned the pages for the creature they had seen in the Inventing Room. As Richard turned each page, he was met with shaken heads. They reached the end and an identically distressed look filled their faces. They hadn't found anything remotely resembling Wonka's new form! Helplessly, the others looked to their chief for guidance. He stood there for a moment, thinking hard. Richard knew that there were many things in Willy's world that they knew nothing about, just as there were things in Loompaland that were unknown to others. For a change, they had someone available for consultation besides the currently missing Wonka. He sketched a drawing of Willy's new form based on David's and Fred's descriptions. With a nod to the others, he instructed them to join the search of the factory. Richard set off to pay a visit.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie woke to a loud mew from Oriana. "What is it?" he grumbled as he flipped over to peer in the dark toward the kitten. His eyes grew huge as he saw a very tiny man looking up at him from the floor. "Who are you?"

"I am Richard," the Oompa-Loompa chief answered in a surprisingly deep, cultured voice. He crossed his arms on his chest, hands touching his shoulders, and bowed to the boy. He was pleased that he had asked 'who' and not 'what'. This was yet another sign that the child was truly good, which could only be good for their Pataki. "We have need of your assistance, Charlie."

_We?_ Charlie blinked, wondering how the little man knew his name. He remembered the handprint on Willy's pants, the 'parrot' he'd thought he'd seen in Willy's office and came to a realization. "You work for Willy!"

The little man chuckled and nodded acknowledgment. "Yes, we do. Will you help us?"

"Of course," Charlie immediately scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. He bent down to look at his unusual visitor. "Where **is** Willy?"

"That is what we need your help with," Richard stated. "Get dressed and meet me in the library."

Charlie nodded. He quickly threw on some clothes, glad it was Saturday and he wouldn't have to go to school. He wondered what had happened to his friend and hoped he was alright. The boy was soon slipping out the door. He ran down the hall and into the library. "Richard?"

"Charlie," the Oompa-Loompa gestured for him to sit and got straight to the problem at hand. "It seems Willy tasted one of his candy experiments last night." He scowled, thinking of the lecture he was going to deliver once the candy maker was in a condition to listen to it. "Now, you have to understand that Willy can do some amazing things with his candy, especially with the rare, exotic ingredients he collected on his candy expeditions."

The boy nodded his understanding, remembering the candies his Grandpa Joe had described in his stories about Willy Wonka.

"About a year after we came to live in the factory, we told Willy he couldn't test his most extraordinary candies any more. They had an even odder effect on him than they did on us."

"What type of effect?" Charlie clasped his hands together in worry.

"He would change into things," Richard answered, "A squirrel, a dog, an okapi, different animals. We put a stop to it when he turned into a bird and almost flew out of the factory. What if he had and didn't come back? What if it didn't wear off? We knew we couldn't take the risk and told him that we would handle the candy testing."

"That's why he can talk to Flicker, Oriana and the hawks!"

Richard nodded, pleased by Charlie's intelligence and intuition. "Willy can communicate with any animal once he has been a similar one. It made it much easier to train the squirrels."

"What is he now?"

"We don't know," Richard responded, "we couldn't find him in the guide." He gestured to the huge, open tome. "That's why we need your help. I was hoping you would recognize what he has become. Once we know, we hope to be able to catch him." _Before he gets into something dangerous_, he thought as old fears bubbled up.

"Won't he come to you? Doesn't he recognize you?"

Richard shook his head. "He takes on the characteristics of the animal he becomes. This one seems to be particularly shy." The dog had been very playful and surprisingly gentle. Once they had guided Willy to the cocoa forest greenhouse, he had romped joyfully through the forest for several days, giving rides to many of the Oomplings and sleeping sprawled under the chief's house until he'd finally changed back into his normal self.

"What does he look like?" Richard showed Charlie the sketch he had made. It was an exquisite piece of art and very detailed. The boy stared at it in a stunned daze. The animal was apparently mostly white and had a delicate look, with long slender legs and split hooves. A dark mane flowed down its neck and was matched by a dark tuft at the end of its tail. A single spiral horn rose from its forehead. "A unicorn," he breathed softly in wonder.

"What is a unicorn? It wasn't in the zoology guide."

"Unicorns aren't real. They're a myth, a legend," Charlie explained. "That book is about real animals."

"Willy always turns into real animals," Richard protested.

Charlie shook his head and stared at the picture again.

The chief sighed. "Do you know how to catch a unicorn?"

"With a virgin," Charlie answered absently, before looking up. "At least that was what the stories always say."

"They eat virgins?" Richard questioned in distaste.

"No! They were attracted by them. I don't know why." Charlie walked over to a set of shelves, having already discovered Wonka's extensive selection of fairy tales and mythology. He pulled one book down and brought it over. He flipped through the pages until he found one of a unicorn and bent to show it to the other. "They lay their heads in the virgin's lap and then the unicorn hunter could kill it and remove their horn."

"Why would they do that?" He questioned, thinking that was a barbaric thing to do to such a beautiful animal.

"A unicorn's horn was suppose to cure illness and was a remedy for all poisons," Charlie explained. "The legend of the unicorn was apparently started by the rhinoceros."

"They are nothing alike!"

"I know. People claimed Narwhal tusks were unicorn horns."

"Narwhals are real animals?" At Charlie's nod, Richard consulted the zoology book again. "A moon whale? Interesting, but not very helpful, I'm afraid." Curiosity made him check the index for unicorns which led to information about goats with single horns and people transplanting their horns to make them appear to be unicorns. "Maybe he's actually a goat," Richard commented as he showed the pages to Charlie.

The boy looked at the sketch again and shook his head. It looked like a unicorn to him, not a goat. Not that he'd ever seen a real live goat before. Charlie shrugged. He checked the time. "Mom and Dad will be up soon. They'll be wondering where I am." He sighed unhappily. "Will you let me know when you find Willy? Please?" He pleaded with the small worker. He knew he would do nothing but worry until he knew Willy was safe.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you join me after breakfast? You can help us search for Willy."

Charlie immediately agreed. He hoped they found Willy soon!

"Don't tell your parents about us, please," Richard instructed. "Willy doesn't want them to know just yet."

"He doesn't want **me** to know either," Charlie pointed out, rather astutely.

"Yes," Richard admitted. "You have to understand Pataki is very protective of us."

"Pataki?"

"It means Dear Heart in our language. It's one of our names for Willy."

Charlie nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can get away." He ran back to the suite they were living in and quietly slipped into his bedroom to wait for his father to call him for breakfast. He nervously petted Oriana. "They have to find Willy," he told her, wondering and worrying about his friend. He shivered as he considered how Willy could get hurt in his current form. _At least he can't leave the factory_, he thought, only to feel a fresh rush of deep concern as he realized Willy must have found a way to open doors if he was eluding his unusual workers.


	46. Chapter 45 The Search Begins

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 45 - The Search Begins**

Charlie fidgeted as he tried to eat his breakfast, anxious to join Richard in trying to find Willy. Mrs. Bucket gave her son a puzzled look and glanced at the door. "Is Willy joining us today?"

The boy froze for a moment, his mind going blank. What could he say? What should he say? 'Willy's been turned into a unicorn' did not seem appropriate or believable. "I don't think so," he finally answered. Truthfully, since he didn't think a unicorn would be willing to join them for breakfast.

"Ah, too bad," she shook her head, hoping he had remembered to eat and placed more bacon and toast on the table. She sat down and filled her plate, beginning to eat her own breakfast.

Charlie thought quickly. He was supposed to meet Richard in the library again. He needed an excuse to leave and he'd just given his parents the impression that Willy was too busy. "I'm supposed to meet him in the library," he hastily informed his parents. Another truth, except the 'him' wasn't Willy as his parents would assume. He saw his mother frown and knew she was getting ready to fuss about the candy maker not eating. "Willy said he would be up early this morning, so he'd have time for us to play together." It seemed kind of weird to say an adult would be willing to play, but it was perfectly believable when it came to Wonka. "He ate then," he finished, hoping he'd been convincing. He knew Willy wouldn't be happy if his mom lectured him about the importance of starting the day with a good breakfast.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged telling looks, before his mother answered, "All right, dear." They watched, faintly amused as their son gulped down his breakfast and then politely asked to be excused. Mrs. Bucket nodded and he shot out the door.

"Well, that was fast," Mr. Bucket commented.

"Did you find anything strange about it?"

"Strange, darling?" Mr. Bucket considered their morning. "Other than the fact that Willy didn't join us and our son was making excuses for him?"

"Yes," Mrs. Bucket nodded and smiled. "I wonder what they're up to now."

"When it comes to Mr. Willy Wonka, I haven't a clue," Mr. Bucket folded his paper and reached for the manuals to study some more. He had managed to get a job interview for Monday. "Our son won't allow too much mischief though."

"True," Mrs. Bucket nodded and began to gather the dishes, glasses and silverware for washing.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie ran into the library to find Richard clicking at someone else on a miniature walkie-talkie. "Any word?"

"Not so far," the chieftain responded. "Unicorns are herbivores, correct?" Charlie nodded. "Then let us start with the factory greenhouses. Perhaps he got hungry and went to one of them." He led the way down the hall and through a door. They began to walk down a long, gently curving hall that was painted green and a very light blue.

"Are there a lot of greenhouses?"

"Quite a few, actually," Richard answer. "The factory is very self sufficient." Charlie became quiet as the Oompa-Loompa listened intently to the reports of the other workers as they searched. They finally reached another door labeled Minor Greenhouses. "We'll start with Willy's personal greenhouse. There's less coming and going there."

The boy stared wide eyed as they continued down a long hall with doors labeled things like Oranges That Aren't Orange, Sugar Canes, Chocolate Roses, Twisted Candy and Icky Vegetables. They finally reached a door with a sign Willy's Favorite Things(Not Just Green). He gasped in awe as the door opened silently, revealing a huge room with a glass ceiling showing bright sun and fluffy white clouds. How could that be? They were inside the factory, no where near the top level! The room was full of brightly colored flowers. Contented honey bees busily buzzed around as butterflies danced lightly in the air. There were rose bushes with every color and hue, lavender, lilac bushes, daisies and huge sunflowers. Dogwood trees full of softly colored blooms stood beside maple trees bright in their autumn foliage. Perfectly straight rows of corn, tomatoes, carrots and potatoes marched alongside of meandering vines of pumpkins and squashes. Trees spread throughout the greenhouse, heavy with fruits or nuts. There were so many plants that he couldn't name them all if he had a year to do it in!

The heady fragrance of spices and flowers filled Charlie's senses until he felt dizzy with it. This was a minor greenhouse? He began to wonder what the major greenhouses were like, even as he looked eagerly around, hoping to spot a flash of white in the splashes of color and greenery that would reveal Willy's presence. He searched as silently as he could, behind the full bushes of flowers or berries, down the tall rows of corn with their tassels waving in a gentle breeze. Charlie had barely been through a eighth of the huge room when he felt a tug on his pants. He looked down at Richard, only to feel his heart thump at the serious look on the little man's face.

"Come, Charlie," Richard stated. "The security system indicates someone or something went into the Electrical Underground."

The boy nodded and followed once more. "Is that bad?"

"Yes," the Oompa-Loompa admitted as he nodded toward the elevator, "Maybe. It could be. We don't go there, only Willy does."

"Why?" Charlie asked as he obediently pushed the elevator call button.

"It's quite cold. We don't like the cold. It can hurt us."

"How do you know whoever went in? Maybe they came out."

Richard shook his head. "Push the button for the Fuzzy Coats Room, please."

Charlie blinked as he stared at all the buttons on the glass wall and looked down at Richard questioningly.

"Half way up, third button on the right."

Charlie found the button and pressed. He really wasn't prepared for the elevator to jerk sideways before it dropped and thumped to the floor. His eyes were wide as he slid around as the glass elevator seemed to go every which way. He hoped he didn't slide into Richard! Bright lights flashed on and off in the darkness as they flew. He finally managed to brace himself in a corner.

The elevator came to a halt in another hallway. The doors opened with a merry ding and Richard walked over to rows of coat racks to pick up a warm looking, very fuzzy, bright red parka. "Get that one, Charlie," he pointed up at a much larger, identical parka resting on a hook above his head.

Charlie, obedient as always, grabbed it only to find another surprise. "It's my size!"

"Yes, Willy had it made," the little man answered, "just in case . . ."

"We stayed." Charlie brushed a soft sleeve. "Willy is going to show me the factory if we stay."

"Yes."

"He said he wouldn't."

"He didn't want to get his hopes up."

Charlie looked at Richard for a second, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It did sound like Willy. "Let's check the Electrical Underground. We need to find him!"

Richard nodded and led the way to a door at the end of the long white hallway. It was different from all the other doors Charlie had seen so far. It was big, dark and heavy, apparently made from steel, with a wheel to open it, like a hatch or door on a big ship meant to keep water out. Charlie tried to turn the wheel and found it to be very stiff. "How could a unicorn go through here?"

"He couldn't," Richard frowned. "He must have gone another way!"

"What other ways are there?" Charlie didn't think he could open this door. He wasn't strong enough. It felt like it hadn't been open in a long time.

"I don't know," the Oompa-Loompa shrugged expressively. "Willy always went this way." Frustrated, he made an undulating cry. Charlie blinked as they were suddenly surrounded by more little men. All of them looked identical and just like Richard! They gestured urgently amongst themselves, making little noise, talking he guessed, though he had never seen (or heard) anything like it. The only difference Charlie could see between them was in the color of the shiny coveralls they were wearing. The newcomers were wearing navy blue, while Richard was wearing red. All of them had sleeves and socks with horizontal black and white stripes. The small group finished and crossed their arms, hands to their shoulders and bowed to each other before they scattered. "They're going to look for another way down," Richard told Charlie. "In the meantime, let's get the lubricant and see if you can manage to open that door."

Charlie nodded and, following Richard's directions, found an oilcan. He squirted some on the bearings of the wheel locking the door. Surprisingly, the oil smelled sweet and was bright green. He set the can aside and tried to turn the wheel again. He tried as hard as he could and just as he was ready to give up, he felt it shift ever so slightly. Excited, he grabbed the oilcan and liberally squirted more of the green oil. He grabbed the wheel and pushed as hard as he could, putting his whole weight behind it. With a loud squeal, the wheel surrendered and began to move. He turned it around and around until he heard a clang. With a shove, he pushed at the heavy door and managed to open it just enough for him to squeak through. He peered inside to see the start of a long metal staircase leading downward, dim covered lights vanished into the stygian darkness below. He wondered at the load roar he could hear. The smell of water filled the air. He looked at the steps and the little Oompa-Loompa. "I'll have to carry you if we want to hurry," he offered, hoping he wasn't offending his new acquaintance.

Richard nodded in agreement and the boy carefully picked him up. The pair clanged down the stairs. At first, Charlie was afraid that he was going to scare off Willy with all the noise, but as he went further down the roaring noise got louder and louder. Every time he thought they would run out of light, a new one would appear to show his way. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of climbing down the inexhaustible stairwell, they came out at the top of a vast cavern. The roar of a huge waterfall filled the enormity with sound. The very stairs that Charlie stood upon vibrated with the thunder. Lights strung across the ceiling revealed a tall, broad underground waterfall, the water churning white with turmoil as it fed the river. He now understood why this was called the Electrical Underground as he spotted mighty turbines spinning with the rush of water.

A tug on his sleeve pulled Charlie's attention from the breathtaking sight. He looked down at his tiny passenger, unable to hear him. Richard pointed. He turned and forgot the wonder of the cavern at the spectacle of a white unicorn, his horn gleaming in the artificial lights. His neck was bent down so he could drink from the underground river. "Willy," he whispered, unheard in the chaos of sound. He cautiously took a few steps down toward the floor of the cavern.

The unicorn's head suddenly jerked up. His nostrils flared a delicate pink as he sniffed the air with suspicion, his ears pricking forward. Charlie froze as he turned to stare at the boy and Oompa-Loompa. Startled, the unicorn reared on his hind legs, his tail lashed once, before he plunged into the rapidly moving river.

"Wait!" Charlie called hopelessly as the beautiful animal swam into the darkness, his hand reaching out to stop his friend. Stricken, he exchanged terrified looks with Richard. The water was moving swiftly and they didn't know if Willy could fight the pull of its current. The boy plunged recklessly down the steps, anxiously scanning for signs of the unicorn. He slowed to a stop at the side of the river, his lungs heaving for air. "Willy," he called loudly, desperately listening for some sign of what had happened to him, trying to hear over the thunderous fall of water.

A single crystal chime somehow sounded as clear as a bell through the roar. The only sign they received that the unicorn might have made it to the far side of the river.


	47. Chapter 46 To Capture a Unicorn

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 46 - To Capture a Unicorn, Take a Virgin and Add Apple**

"How do we get to the other side?" Charlie asked anxiously.

"We don't," Richard responded sadly. "I don't know of any way to reach the other side of the river."

"We need a boat!"

Richard paused to consider it. He sighed deeply. "We'd never get the boat down here. It's too big."

Charlie blinked. "You have a boat?"

Richard nodded. "Oh yes, though I don't know if the rowers could cross the river. They usually go with the flow, um, current."

"We should be able to get a rowboat down here somehow. They're not that big!" But then if they did get across, how would they get Willy back to this side? It would be too small!

"Um, Charlie, it's not a rowboat exactly."

The boy looked at the Oompa-Loompa in confusion.

"Have you ever seen a picture of the dragon-headed longships the Vikings used?"

Charlie nodded.

"Our ship is of a similar design."

"Could we take it apart and put it together down here?"

Richard shook his head. "Ours was carved . . . from a boiled sweet."

This really and truly puzzled Charlie Bucket. Where had they gotten a sweet big enough to make a working boat? "Why?"

"Willy does everything with candy if he can. It is quite a beautiful boat."

Charlie briefly wondered where they sailed the boat, only to shake his head. This wasn't helping! "How are we going to reach Willy?"

"I don't know," Richard answered helplessly. "Why don't you go to lunch while I discuss it with the others?"

Charlie reluctantly picked up the chief and started up the long, long way upstairs. "You'll let me know if . . ."

"Yes, Charlie," Richard pledged. He nodded. Whatever happened, they would keep the boy informed.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie Bucket had to be satisfied with the chief's promise. With heavy heart, he returned to his new home. His parents watched with some concern as their son ate very little of his food. They exchanged a great many looks, wondering what was happening and where Willy Wonka was. Finally, unable to get her son to eat any more, Mrs. Bucket put away the leftovers and gathered the dishes for cleaning. She was slicing some juicy red apples for an apple pie when she happened to look out and see snowflakes falling. They were large and fluffy. "It's snowing!"

Charlie glanced up from his book and nodded, his mind focused more on Willy and his hope that the unicorn was safe. He'd just looked back down when he heard his mother gasp and the clatter of a knife hitting the floor. He looked up again to see his mother step back from the window, her hand over her mouth. Now curious, he jumped up to look out. His eyes widened as he saw him again. The unicorn was prancing around the courtyard, tossing his head and apparently trying to catch the softly drifting snow. The boy immediately snatched a handful of apple slices from the bowl and ran out the door. Mr. Bucket stared at the door and back at his wife. "Mrs. Bucket?"

"U-u-u," her hand trembled as she pointed outside the window.

Mr. Bucket stood and went to her, looking out to where she pointed. His mouth dropped at the sight of the delicate mythical creature dancing in the falling snow. "Holy Buckets," he whispered, unable to believe his own eyes. The snowfall grew heavier and the unicorn seemed to vanish and reappear in the snow.

Charlie halted his headlong flight as he reached the side doors and tried to steady his breathing. He couldn't scare Willy again. Slow and easy would work best or so he hoped. With a trembling hand, he reached for the handle, wondering how to let Richard know and how the unicorn had gotten to the courtyard from the underground river. Fortunately, it was one of the side yards and people could not see it from the streets, so they wouldn't have seen a unicorn. Of course, if they had, they wouldn't have believed their eyes and would dismiss it completely as a trick of the light. Or maybe they would think an eccentric chocolatier had made it out of snow. He shook his head to rid it of the stream of thoughts, focusing his entire being on the unicorn named Willy Wonka.

The prancing unicorn froze as it caught the boy's scent. His head immediately turned in his direction, his nostrils flaring once more. "Easy," Charlie whispered softly as he stepped slowly forward. "Easy." He stopped, afraid to go any closer as the violet eyes focused intently on him. Helplessly, Charlie Bucket stared back, distantly noting that the unicorn's mane and the tuft of his tail was the exact same shade as Willy's rich chocolate hair. He held his breath as the unicorn darted around the courtyard, curveting and prancing once more. His heart thumped as he realized the unicorn's movements were slowly bringing him closer and closer. "Easy Willy," he whispered almost silently as he held out a piece of apple, hoping the unicorn would like the treat. His eyes slid closed as he prayed for Willy to take it.

Charlie's eyes snapped open as soft velvet brushed his hand. The unicorn daintily ate the offering from his fingers. His nose flared and he nudged the boy, obviously asking for more. Slowly, cautiously so he didn't scare the beautiful animal, he pulled out another bit of apple. This was eagerly eaten as well. Bit by bit, Charlie fed the unicorn the handful of apple slices until they were gone. Willy nudged his hand, wanting more of the delicious fruit. When it didn't come, he nuzzled Charlie's hair, nibbling lightly.

Hesitantly, Charlie reached up to wrap his arm around the unicorn's neck. It was relatively small, his back just coming to the boy's shoulders. "Come on. Come inside. There're more apples inside. Come on." He encouraged the unicorn to follow him and, much to his delight, he did. His hooves rang like the purest crystal on the hard ground as it danced lightly under the boy's hands. He suddenly froze, still as a statue; Charlie felt his heart drop again. He slowly looked up to find his parents in the open doorway, staring at the unicorn and him. He tried to silently wish them out of the way; positive Willy would go no where near the adults.

The unicorn's ears pricked and his nostrils flared deeply as he inhaled the scents on the air. His tail flicked nervously as the world seemed to still, waiting, wondering. Abruptly, the unicorn danced forward, pulling away from Charlie to snatch the forgotten bit of apple from Mrs. Bucket's hand. He crunched it happily and then turned to look at Mr. Bucket, hoping for more. With a strained smile, Mr. Bucket held his empty hands wide, showing he didn't have any of the treat. The unicorn blew out a silent, disgusted breath before returning to nuzzle Charlie's hair once more.

Charlie breathed out slowly, before wrapping his arm around the delicate neck again, marvelling at the softness of the white fur under his hand. "Come on," he encouraged, "there are more apples inside."

"What will Willy say about a unicorn in his factory?" Mr. Bucket wondered aloud as they cautiously followed the unusual pair back inside to the warmth.

Charlie was wondering how to answer that when someone else did it for him.

"Not very much, since he is Willy," Richard stated as he walked slowly forward. "Silly Willy," he said fondly as the unicorn dipped his nose to smell the tiny newcomer. "I don't have any apples for you." He beamed up at the boy. "Good work, Charlie! I bet he's hungry. Let's get him to the greenhouse. He can eat to his heart's content."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket gaped in shock at the tiny man, only to jump as another pair, identical in every way, shut the doors firmly behind them. The unicorn turned his head and flicked his ears. His tail twitched. Charlie tightened his hold, wondering if he was going to run away again, knowing that he really couldn't stop him if he did. Instead, the unicorn gently pushed his chest as if reminding him of his promise. With relief, Charlie led Willy Wonka after Richard, down the long sloping corridor toward Willy's greenhouse. Powerless against their curiosity, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket followed along.

**- W - C - F -**

Relief filled Charlie as he watched the unicorn eagerly snatch up mouthfuls of green grass, only to stretch up and delicately pluck one of the promised apples from a low hanging branch. Strong jaws crunched the fruit as Willy worked on filling his very empty stomach. His dinner was a faint, distant memory, especially for someone with Willy Wonka's metabolism.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket clung to each other as they watched the little people offer the unicorn treats from the garden. Each one was neatly eaten, before Willy sought something else. "Charlie?"

"Mom, Dad," Charlie turned to his parents. "I want you to meet Richard." The little man bowed to them, crossing his arms and touching his hands to his shoulders. "He's the chief of the Oompa-Loompas."

"Oompa?" Mrs. Bucket started.

"Loompas?" Mr. Bucket finished. Both were equally bewildered.

"They're Willy's workers!"

Richard chuckled. "Willy brought us here from Loompaland to work in his factory. He promised us all the cocoa beans we wanted." He smiled over at the unicorn. "What he didn't say, but has given us is a safe home inside his home. He's been very, very kind to us."

"He pays you in cocoa beans?" Mr. Bucket thought that didn't sound very fair at all.

"Yes," Richard's eyes twinkled as if he guessed the man's thoughts. "If that is what we want. If we want some of your money, he pays us in that. Actually, he gives us everything we can possibly think of and more."

"And the unicorn is Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked slowly, dazed by the thought.

"Yes ma'am," Richard answered. "He seems to have eaten a Candy Horn and it turned him into a unicorn."

"A candy horn?"

"It's an experimental candy, Willy has been working on," the chief continued. "It's supposed to give the person who eats it horns and a tail for one hour exactly."

"That seems a bit more," Mrs. Bucket pointed to the unicorn.

Richard shrugged. "Willy always did have strange reactions to his candies while they're in the experimental stage. It's why we don't let him test them any more. I don't know what he was thinking to eat one!"

"I . . . see," Mrs. Bucket said, not really understanding at all.

Gradually, the adults adjusted to the presence of the unicorn and relaxed enough to enjoy watching him prance around the greenhouse. Eventually, Charlie, the unicorn and several Oompa-Loompas developed a type of tag, chasing each other around joyfully. Willy's tail flagged in the air as he raced around a bush, being careful to be slow enough not to leave everyone else far behind.

As Willy paused to drink deeply from a sparkling clear stream, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket called their son away. "It's time for dinner," his mother informed him when he tried to protest.

Charlie looked back over his shoulder, sorry to be leaving Willy and the Oompa-Loompas behind. He hoped they could play more tomorrow and wondered how long Willy was going to be a unicorn. Richard hadn't really said and he couldn't ask Willy given the circumstances. While he loved the beautiful animal, he truly, sincerely and deeply wished for his friend back.

The Buckets walked the long distance back to their apartment. Mr. Bucket and Mrs. Bucket wrapped their arms around each other with Charlie safely tucked between them. They had known Willy's factory was very different from other factories, but had never expected anything like this! They wondered what other surprises awaited them as they neared their door, only to find a surprise already waiting for them.

There, lying stretched in front of the door, his head up and ears pricked curiously forward was the unicorn named Willy Wonka. His entire attitude seemed to ask what had taken them so long to get there. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket looked at each other even as Charlie ran forward to gleefully hug his friend. How had he gotten there before them without them seeing anything?

Several minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Mr. Bucket opened it, looking out. He looked down as Richard cleared his throat. "Have you seen Willy?"

Mr. Bucket stepped back, gesturing the Oompa-Loompa chief into the room. Willy was curled in front of the fireplace, Oriana snoozing under his chin. Charlie leaned against his side, reading his book aloud to his friend.

"Well," the little man rested his hands on his hips and shook his head in amused exasperation, "I guess Willy will be spending the night with Charlie."

"I guess so," Mr. Bucket smiled, his eyes full of amusement and wonder.


	48. Chapter 47 Living With a Unicorn

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 47 - Living With A Unicorn**

A short time later, the chief returned with a group of Oompa-Loompas. They brought in a soft fluffy rug and unrolled it beside Charlie's bed for Willy to sleep on. They also brought a large, colorful soft blanket to cover him.

"Just in case Willy turns back during the night," Richard informed the Buckets as the unicorn nibbled curiously on the blanket. He huffed silently before settling into a doze beside Charlie's bed. His ears flicked forward as Mr. Bucket quietly closed the door, alert even in his sleep.

"How long will Willy be a unicorn?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

Richard shrugged. "A few days, a week maybe, certainly no more than a month," he responded and paused for a moment. "I think."

"A month?" Mrs. Bucket looked very concerned at that. He would miss Christmas if he was a unicorn for a whole month! Her son wouldn't like that at all. She wasn't sure how Willy would feel about it.

"Don't you know?" Mr. Bucket inquired, looking dazed.

"The only one who would really know is Willy."

"And he's not answering questions at the moment," Mr. Bucket finished with a sigh of frustration.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie woke to find Willy's head resting on his bed, the unicorn watching him with patient curiosity. He shoved the twinge of disappointment that his friend was still in his four-legged form and got up to check on Oriana, before taking a shower and getting ready for the day. Willy stuck his head curiously into the shower while the boy was brushing his teeth. The sound of crystal chimes filled the bathroom followed by the splashing fall of water. Startled, Charlie spun around to find that the unicorn had entered his shower and somehow managed to turn on the water. The beautiful white animal stood under the spray, his ears and tail flicking back and forth, blinking his eyes.

"Willy! How am I supposed to get you dry?" Charlie wondered as he hastened to close the door to the stall so more water wouldn't get on the floor of the bathroom. Ten minutes later, the water cut off and he could hear Willy moving inside so he opened the door to stare at the very wet unicorn, his chocolate mane plastered to his neck. With a sigh, he grabbed every towel he had and proceeded to try and rub the unicorn's fur dry enough so that he wasn't dripping.

"Charlie?" Mr. Bucket stuck his head in his son's bedroom, wondering where he and Willy were.

"In here, Dad!" Charlie called as he rubbed Willy's neck with a fresh towel.

Mr. Bucket opened the door and stared at the mound of wet towels surrounding Charlie and Willy the very wet unicorn. He smiled slightly. "Problem?"

"Willy decided to take a shower," Charlie explained. He jumped slightly as giggling burst out behind his father. He stared at the band of Oompa-Loompas standing there.

"Leave him to us, Charlie," Richard stated, waving his crew forward. The small people swarmed forward. Three of them somehow coaxed the unicorn to lie down on a soft bath mat. He was soon surrounded by little men who were rubbing him dry and diligently brushing his soft fur and hair.

Charlie watched in amusement as four female Oompa-Loompas proceeded to braid some plum red and lavender ribbons into Willy's mane. He wondered how his friend would feel about that after he turned back into a human as he went to find clean clothes to dress in. For the sake of his privacy, Charlie changed in his parents' room. He was soon at the breakfast nook, eagerly waiting for a delicious breakfast when he heard the now familiar crystal chimes of Willy's hooves.

The unicorn pranced out into the living room with his head held high, his horn gleaming softly in the morning light. His mane was beautifully braided with ribbons. His fur and hair was silky and pure as only a unicorn could be. He wore a strand of braided flowers around his neck. It wasn't until the unicorn darted joyfully over to join him in the nook that Charlie smelled something he hadn't been expecting. He leaned forward to examine the flowers and found that they were made from candy. The sweet aroma of chocolate, caramel, vanilla and other delicious scents filled the air around Willy. Amused, Charlie gently rubbed his friend's soft muzzle. While Charlie ate breakfast, Willy daintily ate an apple.

That Sunday, the two friends were inseparable. Charlie took Willy and Oriana to Willy's greenhouse. He got a lot of giggles and laughter at the sight of Oriana trying to hunt the unicorn's tail in the midst of the shrubbery. Willy ate grass, fruits and vegetables between her stalking. The little kitten finally wore herself out and that left Charlie and Willy to romp and play together in the greenhouse. After lunch, they watched a movie in the theater, though Willy was bored and fell asleep long before it was over. He patiently gave his young friend a backrest as he read his school assignments and then the book from Willy's library. All in all, Sunday was a lot of fun for the friends.

Sadly, the same could not be said for Monday. Ah, Monday! Back to school! Willy the unicorn just did not understand at all why Charlie was leaving him. It took everything Mr. and Mrs. Bucket could do, everything the Oompa-Loompas could do, to keep the unicorn from following Charlie Bucket down the hall and outside, all the way to school. Mrs. Bucket felt quite breathless from holding on to the determined unicorn's neck as he made yet another lunging attempt to get out.

"He doesn't understand," Mr. Bucket exclaimed helplessly. He had to get ready for his job interview soon. That would, unfortunately, provide Willy with another opportunity to try and leave. He didn't see how Mrs. Bucket and the little Oompa-Loompas could hold the unicorn captive by themselves. The little workers had already informed the Buckets they didn't know how Willy had managed to get around the factory unseen.

A little Oompa-Loompa in a light blue dress and pearls stared at them from the doorway of the suite. She walked up to the unicorn and reached up a hand. Willy huffed and bent down to sniff it. "Stop it! Right this minute," she scolded the unicorn in no uncertain terms in Oompa-Loompish, while patting his nose very gently. "You're being a silly Willy! Charlie has to go to school and unicorns are not allowed. I'm sure you would realize that if you thought for just a minute."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket gaped in astonishment as Willy stopped and turned into the very picture of dejection and abandonment. "He'll be back in a few hours. School doesn't last forever," the little Oompa-Loompa reassured her boss. "He'll behave now," she informed everyone else serenely.

"Thank you, my dear." Richard kissed his wife on the cheek. "This is my wife, Doris. She is Willy's personal assistant. Willy will listen to her when he won't hear a word from anyone else." He smiled proudly at her as she blushed slightly and giggled.

"How do you do, Doris," Mrs. Bucket greeted the little woman in relief. She looked, except for her attire, much like all of the other Oompa-Loompas in the room. The Buckets had no idea how they would tell all of the little workers apart.

Doris dropped a brief and polite curtsey. "Very well, thank you, Mrs. Bucket." She looked over the two large people carefully.She spoke in the way of all Oompa-Loompas with Richard translating for her. "You are staying here, aren't you? There will be no more nonsense about you moving out?" She petted Willy's nose again. "Willy would be heartbroken if you left."

Mrs. Bucket exchanged telling looks with Mr. Bucket and nodded decisively. "We're staying."

"Good," Doris smiled as all the other Oompa-Loompas cheered loudly, startling poor Willy into dancing back from the noise. "Now, I believe Mr. Bucket has to ready for his appointment. Richard, dear, why don't you take Willy to the cocoa forest?"

Richard nodded slowly. "Yes, that's a good idea. The floberties and wumbles will keep him distracted until Charlie comes home from school." The Buckets felt relieved as the unicorn followed the Oompa-Loompa couple out the door and down the hallway. Mr. Bucket kissed Mrs. Bucket on the cheek before hurrying into their bedroom to get ready for his interview. He dressed very carefully in some of the new clothes that Willy had provided them. His shoes were polished to a fine shine and his hair brushed within an inch of its life.

All in all, Mrs. Bucket thought her husband looked quite handsome as she straightened his collar. "For luck," she whispered before kissing him tenderly.

Mr. Bucket wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled. "Thank you, darling." He took a deep breath and picked up his winter coat. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

**- W - C - F -**

Meanwhile, Willy was being reintroduced to the floberties and wumbles. He snorted, the first sound the Oompa-Loompas had heard him make save for the sounds of his delicate, dancing hooves, as several wumbles grabbed hold of the chocolate tuft at the end of his white tail. Everyone froze as Willy stared at the colorful wumbles. Even the floberties fell silent as they waited. Suddenly Willy jumped straight up into the air. He landed and bounded into the forest with his tail flagged high.

At first, the Oompa-Loompas were afraid the wumbles had scared Willy. The unicorn came bounding back, only to come to an abrupt halt. He twisted his neck around until he was staring at the wumbles on his tail. He gently nuzzled the colorful winged balls of fuzz, before he took off in another direction. They all relaxed as the floberties and other wumbles flew after the unicorn in a mad chase through the vast cocoa forest.

As if he instinctively knew when Charlie was returning, Willy slipped away from the forest, floberties and wumbles. He raced down the halls and was waiting, anxiously prancing when the boy entered the factory. Charlie hugged Willy's neck joyfully; unaware of the problem the unicorn had been earlier that day. Mrs. Bucket didn't have the heart to tell her son what he'd been like after his departure and watched with a faintly worried smile as Willy stayed close by her son's side. He obviously didn't care how boring Charlie's activities might be. She had to wonder why he was so attached to Charlie. Was it Willy's memories of their friendship? Or something unique to the unicorn he now was?

Mr. Bucket finally returned from his interview at Smilex. He wore a huge smile as he announced his new position over dinner. Mrs. Bucket hugged him and they exchanged conspiring glances, already planning Christmas presents for their son with the pay increase. Willy ignored the exchanges in favor of the pieces of apple that Charlie was feeding to him.

This set the pattern for the days to follow. Charlie would wake to find Willy resting his head on his bed, watching him. He would get up; tend to Oriana and hug Willy before getting ready to depart for school, leaving a bereft unicorn behind. Mrs. Bucket was extremely glad Willy didn't make the fuss he had that first day. She was positive she could never hold him back alone. Well, if it was just her and Willy's little workforce. The Oompa-Loompas would appear immediately afterward and lead Willy to the cocoa forest to play with his new friends, the floberties and wumbles. In the afternoon, he would race down the hallway to meet Charlie at the front door. Only once was it with a wumble still clinging to his tail.

This new pattern of their lives held until Friday afternoon, when a terrible scream suddenly echoed through the cocoa forest. Willy flashed in a blur of white down the hallway and out of the factory before any one else could think or move!


	49. Chapter 48 Guardian Angel

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 48 - Guardian Angel**

Willy raced through the falling snow, across the street and into the park in a blink of an eye, his mane flying as he galloped toward Charlie's school. He screamed again, a terrifying sound, as his eyes flashed red in fury. Willy Wonka sprang forward his horn lowered, running at full speed toward the large man threatening Charlie and a little girl with a knife. At the very last moment, the unicorn raised his horn and rammed into the man with his strong, muscular chest. As delicate as he appeared, there was steel hard muscle, long and lean under that soft white coat. The man tumbled back, desperately slashing at the furious animal. Willy reared on his hind legs and blocked the knife with his horn.

Charlie stared with huge, fear filled eyes as unicorn and man fought a quiet and horrendous battle. He could feel his smaller classmate cringing against his back, shaking and crying softly. Sirens shattered the silence and the man broke away, fleeing for his life and freedom. Willy shook his head and snorted in anger, his eyes gleamed as he lunged again, tempted to chase the assailant down. He flinched slightly when a small gentle hand touched his side and his fury drained away as Willy turned to gently nuzzle Charlie and then the girl worriedly.

"Unicorn," the little girl whispered in awe. Willy huffed silently; his sweet breath surrounded her and the boy, soothing them after their dreadful fright.

Charlie looked around desperately as the sounds of the sirens neared. "Hide!" He whispered urgently in one delicate shell like ear. It flicked and the unicorn appeared ready to ignore the frantic command, until the loud noises of adults nearing awakened a unicorn's natural desire to remain hidden. Willy bounded straight up and vanished into a nearby thicket of bare bushes and trees. The children turned, the girl wanting to keep sight of the magical creature, Charlie anxiously checking to make sure no one would spot his friend.

There was only time for a brief exchange between the two children, but it was long enough for Charlie to extract a promise not to mention the unicorn. Jenny Tompkins was obviously smitten by the beautiful animal and readily acknowledged the adults would never believe her. And if they did, there was the horror of what they might do to the brave unicorn that had rescued them, so they exchanged solemn pledges to keep the mythical beast out of their stories. Jenny dissolved into tears as soon as the police officers arrived, unable to say a word between her sobs.

Charlie had to wonder at the convenience of the girl's crying. It left Charlie to tell their story to two officers as others swarmed with a strange precision around them, searching for clues. His description of the man was quite detailed. Charlie thought he would never forget how he'd looked or the expression on his face! Jenny nodded periodically as the boy told their story about the stranger attempting to kidnap Jenny. He'd tried to stop him and had slowed him momentarily with a thrown rock. He managed to transform Willy into an anonymous large, white animal, perhaps a goat or a deer, he wasn't certain, but he gave it credit with a timely distraction which lasted long enough for them to hear the police sirens that made their attacker run away.

When he remembered the knife, Charlie's own tears started to flow as soon as his mother appeared and engulfed him in a huge, protective hug, before she opened her arms to hold Jenny as well. He wondered how she had known for the two children hadn't yet said how to contact their parents, only to realize she must have been trying to follow Willy. How had his friend known they were in danger? Where was he now? A nervous glance around showed no traces of a pure, snow white unicorn with a chocolate mane and tuft. There were no crystal chimes dancing on the cold wind. It was as if he'd never existed.

Charlie was only distantly aware of his mother speaking with the police as he worried about his friend. Mrs. Bucket sadly admitted their home had been destroyed in the tornado a few weeks ago. Her husband had become unemployed after that and had only recently gotten a new job. She managed to leave the impression that they'd been living on the kindness of strangers, never once hinting they actually lived with Willy Wonka. She gave them the number Willy had provided if the police needed to contact them. A teacher who'd been working late appeared, attracted by the commotion, and offered to call Jenny's parents.

After the Tompkins arrived to collect Jenny, the police had let them all go home. They promised the parents that they would keep them fully informed of their manhunt for attempted kidnapper. One officer tousled Charlie's hair and called him a very brave boy. As police dogs were brought up to search for the stranger, Charlie felt a fresh surge of apprehension and worry. What if the dogs tracked Willy down? His throat closed as he pictured the unicorn fleeing for his life, pursued by a pack of dogs and the police.

The officer in charge went with the teacher to speak with the principal. It was a nightmare situation for Charlie's school, though the children weren't truly aware of that fact. The school board would be discussing the situation with the police long into the night, trying to find a way to protect their students. The kidnapper might try something at one of the bus stops. Mr. Tompkins was pledging to drive his daughter to school from now on and Mrs. Tompkins would pick her up afterwards, but some children, like Charlie, didn't have that option and didn't take the bus because of their proximity to the school. Their parents couldn't escort them. What were they going to do?

**- W - C - F -**

"They won't find Willy, will they?" Charlie asked his mother anxiously as they slipped inside the huge factory complex.

"I don't know, Charlie," Mrs. Bucket answered truthfully. Her heart was still thumping with fear about what had almost happened to her little boy. She felt a warm gratitude to Willy and prayed the unicorn would return safely.

A swarm of Oompa-Loompas emerged to surround mother and son, but they either did not speak English or somehow understood the situation, because none of them asked questions about their beloved employer. Instead, the Buckets found their coats removed and were guided into their quarters with hot cups of cocoa, perfectly prepared, served to them along with chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven. Oompa-Loompas patted their legs, trying to be comforting.

When Charlie finished his cocoa and ignored his cookies, three brought Oriana out, offering the kitten to him. He found himself holding on to her, stroking her soft fur repeatedly as he stared into the flames dancing in their fireplace. The fire shimmered as tears filled his eyes once more. Where was Willy Wonka? Was he safe? Was he cold? Had he been hurt in his fight with that mean man? He sat back on the couch, hugging Oriana tightly.

That was where Mr. Bucket found his wife and son when he returned home. His wife was hugging Charlie who was holding on to Oriana for dear life. He was horrified and shocked by the news when Mrs. Bucket told him what happened. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up as he worried about the kidnapper and Willy. What could he do? Maybe he should go search for Willy himself. Would the unicorn come to him? Had anybody seen him? He sat down abruptly on the other side of his son, enclosing him in the warmth and safety of their love. He shook his head when the Oompa-Loompas offered him some hot cocoa and stared absently into the flames.

**- W - C - F -**

Mrs. Bucket was trying to get her son to go to bed when there was a commotion outside their door. Mr. Bucket threw it open to find a tired, damp, cold and anxious unicorn staring at him. "Willy!"

His father's cry alerted Charlie who dropped Oriana on the couch to run up to his friend. He went to throw his arms around his neck when his cry of relief changed to one of alarm. "He's hurt!" There was a trail of dried blood running down his right front leg. As the boy coaxed the unicorn into their quarters, one Oompa-Loompa ran off, only to swiftly return with another one. The newcomer was wearing a white jumpsuit with a red cross on his sleeve.

"Lie down Pataki," Dr. Luke ordered gently. "Come on, lie down!" Richard joined the physician in trying to convince their employer and friend to lie down in front of the warm fireplace.

Willy was nuzzling Charlie fretfully all over, nibbling his hair and thrusting his nose at the boy's chest. His ears and tail were nervously moving, alert to every sound and movement around them. His hooves shifted in an unease dance of crystal chimes

"Charlie, perhaps if you sat here on the rug, Willy will lay down with you," Richard suggested quietly.

Charlie nodded and Willy immediately followed after him. He sat on the soft, fluffy rug and sighed in relief as the unicorn folded his legs up and arranged himself close beside him. He tried to move out of the way so the medical Oompa-Loompa could work on Willy only to find himself pulled back by his collar. The unicorn curled his neck around so his nose was buried in Charlie's chest once more, firmly pinning the boy to his side. One ear flicked back as Dr. Luke carefully cleaned the dried blood from the wound.

"It's not that bad," Dr. Luke announced to the relief of everyone once it was cleaned. "It's a long scratch and has already stopped bleeding." He rubbed in some ointment before patting Willy on the neck. "I don't even need to bandage it, do I," he told the unicorn who turned to look down at the little man. The Oompa-Loompas giggled as Willy nuzzled Dr. Luke making him fall on his back. Oompa-Loompas swarmed the unicorn and boy, drying Pataki with soft, warm towels.

"Oh Willy," Charlie cried softly when they were done, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend's neck. The unicorn returned to snuggling with the boy as his tears soaked into his mane. His eyes drifted close as Charlie slid into sleep and Oriana curled up against his chest, purring.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged glances. Now what were they suppose to do? They couldn't leave Charlie to sleep there. Could they? They watched as Charlie unconsciously tried to cuddle closer to Willy, clinging tightly to his friend. The Buckets found the Oompa-Loompas observing them closely. Mrs. Bucket sighed and nodded to her husband. Mr. Bucket fetched a blanket from Charlie's bed and Willy's blanket from the floor beside it. The parents gently and carefully covered Charlie and Willy with them. The Oompa-Loompas smiled as Mr. and Mrs. Bucket sat on the couch once more, snuggled close together, watching the three friends sleeping. A few minutes later, the couple followed them into dreamland. The Oompa-Loompas smiled as they fetched another blanket and covered their new friends before creeping quietly out the door to leave the family and their employer to slumber in peace.


	50. Chapter 49 The Trouble with Angels

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 49 - The Trouble with Angels**

Charlie woke with a start, wondering where he was. He sat blinking in the cold, gray, pale morning light and stared around. He soon realized he'd slept with Willy in the living room. The unicorn nudged him gently and nibbled on his hair. He wondered why Willy kept doing that. Willy seemed to do a lot of strange things as a unicorn, things that Willy Wonka would normally not even consider, like dancing in the snow, nibbling his hair and snuggling together. He smothered a smile as he remembered the Oompa-Loompas braiding his mane with ribbons. Willy had really been prancing around after that, almost preening. He wondered once more how Willy would feel about it once he changed back into himself.

With a sigh, the boy stood and stretched. The unicorn immediately rose to his feet, his hooves dancing anxiously once more. Charlie placed a hand on his neck, hoping to still his nervousness as he caught sight of his parents still sleeping snuggled together on the couch. "Shhh," he whispered softly. He remembered yesterday afternoon vividly and hoped that the police had caught that mean man. He wondered why he'd tried to take Jenny and was glad that he'd failed. Jenny was nice enough for a girl. He rubbed Willy's nose affectionately, grateful for his timely rescue.

Charlie walked as quietly as he could toward his room, only to find Willy crowding as closely as possible to him as he followed. He suddenly realized he had a serious problem. He had to go to school and Willy seemed more reluctant than ever to let him out of his sight. In fact, he had to block the shower door just to take one without Willy climbing in after him. He could hear the unicorn moving around restlessly as he shut the water off. He cautiously opened the shower doors only to have Willy immediately and anxiously snuffling his hair. He nuzzled the boy's chest and hair as if searching for any signs of injuries.

The unicorn had to be tricked to get him out of the bathroom long enough for Charlie to dress in his clothes for school. This was followed by the hard part. How was he to leave without the unicorn following him? Charlie patted, stroked and scratched all the places he'd found his friend loved in his current form, wondering what to do. He ate breakfast with Willy firmly by his side. Outside, the trees bent and tossed in a cold, strong wind. The remaining leaves of autumn blew across the road along with odd bits of litter, leaving everything bare with the starkness of the coming winter.

The Oompa-Loompas took it out of his hands, luring Willy into the bathroom for a longer than normal shower. The pounding water hid the quiet sounds Charlie made as he slipped out the door. He wondered how they were going to keep Willy from following him even as he hurried across the road and headed for his school, his head down as he pushed against the blustery weather.

Jenny met him at the door, her eyes gleaming brightly. "There aren't any bruises," she whispered to Charlie, her face shining with wonder. She'd been positive there would be some where that man had grabbed her arm too tightly. She glanced around; making sure no one was near enough to hear as they walked toward their home room. "Do you think He had something to do with that?"

Charlie cocked his head to one side curiously as he considered the question. Could Willy actually heal in his unicorn body, the way the legends of those wondrous creatures claimed? "Maybe," he whispered back, finding it oddly pleasing to have someone actually talking with him for a change. Usually he was ignored, part of the background. He wondered how long before Jenny would fall back into old habits and ignore him in favor of her old friends. He pushed the thought away, deciding to enjoy the incongruous attention brought on by their shared experience. They parted in the class room, each going their separate ways. He saw one of Jenny's friends, Heather, sneer at him and hid a smile as Jenny said something sharp. Maybe it would last longer than he originally thought as Heather looked startled and gave him a considering and admiring look. He blushed slightly at the attention.

**- W - C - F -**

The students were half way through their home period when they noticed a strange chill. The children began shivering with the cold that crept silently through the room. Charlie looked at the vents in bewilderment. The background noise of the fans that spread the heat through the school was strangely absent. Even the teacher was feeling it now and looked puzzled.

The speaker squawked and whistled, before the principal began to speak. Everyone focused their full attention on his words, even the ones who normally ignored school announcements. "The heating system has broken down. All students are to prepare to go home immediately. If you need to call your parents to pick you up, report to the front office. School buses will be here shortly. Teachers may leave once all students are gone for the day."

The students scrambled to gather their things and get their coats. Charlie was glad to pull on the warm coat that Willy had given him. He searched his pockets for his gloves and fumbled them on, his fingers now numb with the cold. The wind had rapidly stolen the heat from the old building. The boy hurried past the line of students, returning Jenny's wave before heading outside to fight his way against the high wind for home. He didn't have to wait for parents or school buses. He was glad for an entirely different reason that he now lived in the nearby factory and wondered if this wind would have been the final straw for their old house.

Charlie's nose and cheeks felt numb with the chill as he hastened into the heat of the chocolate factory. Never had it felt so good! He licked his wind chapped lips and scrambled for the Ivy Suite, wondering where Willy was right now. Charlie opened the door and froze at the unusual sight before him. There, sitting on the floor in row after long row in front of the door, were tiny Oompa-Loompas, their arms joined, swaying back and forth as they sang. They were smaller than any he had seen before. Facing them was a restless and frustrated Willy. He was darting back and forth as he sought a way past the little people. Willy's mane had been braided even more elaborately than before. It looked almost like every single strand had been braided together with long, narrow plum red and lavender ribbon. The result was amazing!

The nonsensical lyrics made Charlie abruptly realize these were children - tiny Oompa-Loompa children. Willy couldn't reach the door for fear of harming any of them. He had to smile at the cleverness of the idea and stared at them in fascinated wonder. Willy's ears pricked forward and he inhaled deeply as he stared at Charlie with whites showing around his violet eyes. The children ceased their singing and turned to stare up at Charlie. They giggled and stood to part before him, allowing the boy to enter. Willy lunged forward as soon as he safely could, to bury his nose in Charlie's chest.

"It's all right," Charlie hugged Willy's neck and whispered reassurances in his ear. "I'm all right."

"Charlie? Why are you home so early?" Mrs. Bucket asked, even as she felt relief as Willy began calming down.

"The heat is out at school, Mom," Charlie explained. "They sent everyone home."

Mrs. Bucket looked surprised, but nodded her understanding.

Oompa-Loompa women began to herd the children together, in preparation of returning to wherever their home was. Charlie watched them form neat lines, skipping, jumping and giggling. He wished he could follow them and see their home inside the factory. Willy nudged his shoulder and looked over it, his ears pricked forward as he too watched the tiny children.

One of the adult Oompa-Loompas walked over and dropped a peculiar curtsey before speaking. "Would you like to come with us? Willy can play with the floberties and wumbles. I'm sure he will be happy now that you are home, Charlie." Her English was flawless, but was spoken with a peculiar accent.

Charlie looked at his mother. "May I? Please?"

Mrs. Bucket considered the question for a moment, before nodding. "All right, but be sure to be back in time for lunch."

The female Oompa-Loompa looked at Mrs. Bucket. "Why not eat in the Cocoa Forest? You can have a picnic. I will gladly return to show you the way."

Mrs. Bucket looked thoughtful and nodded. "That sounds marvelous. Thank you!" She turned to the kitchen, already considering what to make for the basket she'd found in the pantry. She had wondered why it was there. Where would you go to have a picnic in a factory? However, Willy's factory was unlike any other and she now had a fairly good idea about the places where one could do just that.

Charlie and Willy followed the Oompa-Loompas down the ramp that led to the greenhouses. The boy was eagerly anticipating seeing a flobertie for the first time. His arm rested easily on Willy's back, his fingers threaded lightly with the braided strands of his mane. The hair and ribbon were silky soft to the touch and he unconsciously played with them as they walked slowly past the parts he'd already visited.

Finally, the procession reached a pair of massive and impressive doors standing between ornately carved columns. Charlie examined them curiously wondering what the motif was. There were leaves and what appeared to be beans that were as large as an adult Oompa-Loompa's head. Beans? Could they be cocoa beans? He wished he could ask Willy for he'd never actually see the bean from which chocolate was made. The doors opened slowly and he found himself standing in a flood of warm, golden sunlight. The tiny Oompa-Loompa children scurried happily inside, leaving Charlie to enter more slowly. The contrast to the cold, blustery gray day outside was astonishing. No wonder Willy loved his factory so much!

Willy stepped forward eagerly, only to turn around and step behind Charlie, nudging him encouragingly in the back, urging him forward. He wanted to be inside the wide spaces of the forest and he wanted his friend there with him. Charlie looked around eagerly, taking in the huge trees rising high into the air. He'd never seen such mighty trees and was overawed both by them and the fact that they were inside the Wonka Chocolate Factory. The thought was mind boggling, but he was swiftly distracted as wumbles flew rapidly to Willy, catching hold of the tuft of tail and grabbing the strains of his braided mane. The unicorn was becoming more colorful by the second as the cheerfully humming wumbles were drawn irresistibly to him.

Charlie ducked as a large multi colored bird flew overhead to land on Willy's back, its long tail feathers of red and cobalt trailing down.standing out brilliantly against the pure white of Willy's coat. Its golden throat vibrated as it sang a joyous melody, its song blending with the hums of the wumbles. Willy arched his neck more and pranced forward as more floberties landed in the nearest trees, their songs blending into an extraordinary, delightful melody. Enchanted, Charlie followed Willy as he led the way under the vast canopy of leaves, sweet scents filling the air around them.


	51. Chapter 50 And Angels Sing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 50 - And Angels Sing**

Charlie laughed as Willy spun around dislodging wumbles. The wumbles hummed around the unicorn and made snatching grabs in the direction of his tail and intricately braided mane. The unicorn kicked up his heels and raced around the clearing with a stream of wumbles flitting after him. The floberties observed from the trees until one, young and greatly daring, flew down to land on Willy's horn. It was obvious they were having a great deal of fun with each other. So this is what Willy did during the day since he'd changed into a unicorn while he was in school!

Willy paused in his race and nudged something with a hoof. The floberties ruffled their feathers and stretched their wings. Charlie watched curiously wondering what was going to happen now. The unicorn pivoted on a hoof and gave a mighty kick at whatever he had found. The large nut (Or was it a cocoa bean?) flew up into the air. Floberties sprang off their perches and darted after it, until one managed to snatch it with his claws in midair. With a proud trill, the winning flobertie flew to Willy and dropped the object in front of him. The bird landed on Willy's horn and sang bright notes into the air. The other floberties listened for a moment before joining in with the song. Once the flobertie finished his song, the game was repeated with each winning flobertie leading the others in a victory song.

Charlie smiled widely as he listened to merry sounds of the wumbles humming and floberties singing. The game looked like so much fun. When he found the 'ball' flying in his direction, his hands seemed to automatically reach out to grab it from the air. Startled he hesitated for a moment, before running to Willy and ducking under his head, he dropped the cocoa bean. He found all the floberties watching him expectantly. Charlie searched his brain for an appropriate song before settling for leading the floberties through a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells". The birds happily fluffed their feathers and trilled along with the boy's cheerful voice.

Suddenly other voices joined in. Startled, Charlie stopped singing and looked around, only to stare at the Oompa-Loompa children surrounding the clearing and now singing the song. After that, Charlie and the other children were included in the game as floberties or Charlie caught the flying bean. They would try to hum along with the floberties as the wumbles did or, if Charlie made the catch, sing a Christmas carol after listening to Charlie do the first verse.

This was where Mrs. Bucket and her Oompa-Loompa escort found them. Mrs. Bucket couldn't believe the beautiful sounds of the floberties. The sounds of her Charlie singing with the Oompa-Loompa children, the wumbles humming and the floberties cheerfully warbling Christmas songs was something she knew she would treasure always. The only thing missing was Mr. Bucket at her side. She looked at the unicorn nuzzling Charlie's hair. And Willy back to himself. She wondered how much longer the effects were going to last.

Finally, Mrs. Bucket interrupted the game, beckoning Charlie to lunch on the picnic she had brought. Some Oompa-Loompas brought a checkered cloth and spread it out for them to sit on while they enjoyed their meal. Willy followed Charlie and obligingly offered them a back rest as they ate the delicious meal. Mrs. Bucket had not forgotten the unicorn and they took turns feeding him bits of red or green apples.

"Well, he certainly does love apples," Mrs. Bucket commented as Willy daintily took the treat from Charlie's hand.

"Willy has always loved apples," an Oompa-Loompa stated as he joined them.

Mrs. Bucket started and stared at the Oompa-Loompa. She made a guess as to which one it was from his attire, a white coverall with a red cross on the sleeve. "Dr. Luke?"

Dr. Luke chuckled and bowed to the woman. "May I join you?"

"Certainly," Mrs. Bucket exclaimed. She wondered if he had any idea how much longer Willy's . . . condition would last.

The little Oompa-Loompa sat and was immediately nuzzled by the unicorn who tried to nibble on his top knot. Dr. Luke reached up a hand and pushed gently at his muzzle to get him to stop. "Would you like to hear the story of how Willy discovered the Oompa-Loompa tribe?"

"Yes!" Charlie sat forward, his eyes sparkling blue with curiosity. Dimples appeared in his cheeks as he smiled engagingly.

The Oompa-Loompa patted the velvety tip of Willy's nose and cleared his throat. "It began as a normal day for us. We went about our chores as we always did. Hunters went in search of green caterpillars, red slugs, the bark of the bong-bong tree and other things that we used for food."

"Green caterpillars? Red slugs?" The Buckets exclaimed in horror, their faces screwed up at the thought of eating such fare, making Dr. Luke laugh.

"They tasted terrible," he agreed readily, "but they were all we had. The hunters always kept their eyes open for precious cocoa beans which we love above else, but finding them was an extremely rare occurrence," the Oompa-Loompa explained. "I was young, having not yet passed the rites of adulthood and apprenticed to the tribal healer. I, with other males my age, took my turn in escorting the Oomplings, the children too young to have found their own path through life, to the river to collect water plants, berries, pebbles and other things we found useful from the banks. The women would frequently accompany us as they gathered leaves and vines to make new clothes and other useful things. We were constantly on the watch for whangdoodles, snozzwangers and hornswogglers who wanted nothing more than to add Oompa-Loompas to their diet."

"Because of these monstrous predators we lived high above the ground in houses placed amongst the tallest trees."

"What type of houses?" Charlie asked, thinking of the tree houses and forts his classmates played in. He pictured narrow or barred windows and heavy doors to keep out the large, vicious creatures that preyed on the smaller Oompa-Loompas.

"Look up."

Charlie and Mrs. Bucket did just that and stared in awe at the sight. High, high above their heads were vine walkways and the oddest houses they had ever seen. They brought to mind coconuts or wasp nests. Oompa-Loompas were moving on the walks, heading about their business, looking tinier than ever because of the height. Some wore the familiar, colorful jumpsuits, while others appeared to be wearing leaves woven together, the traditional clothing of the tribe. They looked down at Dr. Luke, their wonder clearly showing on their faces.

"Spunyengars make our houses, or rather, we move into them after they move on. They live in vast colonies, but never stay the same place two years in a row. Willy brought the largest spunyengiony that he could find here so we would have homes just like we had in Loompaland. After they built the houses, when they were restless and ready to move again, he took them back and released them to find a new place to live."

"Willy did everything he could to make us feel at home," another voice said. They turned to discover Richard had joined them.

"I was starting to tell Charlie and Mrs. Bucket how we met Willy," Dr. Luke explained, "but perhaps you should tell it. Richard was among the first to see Willy." He bowed respectfully to his chief who returned the bow. Oompa-Loompas, young and old, came forward to gather round, obviously eager to hear a well-loved tale. They all sat and Richard patted Willy gently before beginning. He was an expert story-teller and his audience was soon so absorbed in his words that they felt they were actually there.


	52. Chapter 51 Destined Meeting

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 51 - Destined Meeting**

Oomloo-le stared broodingly out at the forest, his thoughts deeply troubled. Food was getting scarcer; it had been many moons since any one had found even a single cocoa bean. And most troubling of all, the whangdoodles were getting bolder and coming closer to their village. Oomloo-le had good reasons to be worried and wondered how he could protect his people now that the hunters had to range further and further afield in pursuit of food. Movement caught the chieftain's eyes and he strained to see clearly, afraid that a whangdoodle had finally found their village.

To Oomloo-le's great amazement, a peculiarly dressed man stumbled out of the thicker forest into the clearing. The stranger stared up and around in astonishment at the village in the trees. The Oompa-Loompa was no less astounded by this odd visitor who would tower over the little Oompa-Loompas like a tall, young tree. Never had he seen or heard of a person of such looming size. He was far larger than any whangdoodle, snozzwanger or hornswoggler and he held an enormous blade in one hand as if he knew how to use it. That blade was longer than the tallest of the Oompa-Loompas! It looked to be extremely sharp-edged and the chief feared what danger this alien outsider might be to his tribe.

Sudden movement made the newcomer's head snap to the right. He gasped before running full pelt across the open space and leaping over the heads of a small band of Oompa-Loompa younglings and women. A single swing of his sharp blade sliced two attacking whangdoodles in half. More whangdoodles attacked, unwary of the stranger and eager to reach the delicacy of the Oompa-Loompas that he was now defending. The man swung swiftly, fending off the swarm of monstrous insects until there were only three left.

Oomloo-le felt his heart lodge in his throat even as he grabbed a pair of spears and raced for one of the pathways leading down to the forest floor. He and several other defenders reached the ground in time to see two of the remaining whangdoodles swarm forward together, heading straight for Teki-la, the chief's wife, and their baby daughter, Ka-lela. At the same instant, the third whangdoodle swooped down toward Lioo-ka.

Afterwards, Oomloo-le would swear to one and all that the following act was deliberate. It was quite possibly the single most courageous thing he had ever seen. For the stranger stepped back, placing his right leg between Lioo-ka and the attacking whangdoodle, while he swung swiftly at the others, slicing them in two, just as the third sank its stinger deep into the calf of his leg. The man didn't hesitate, but continued his deadly arc until his weapon cut through the third and final whangdoodle. Then and only then, the giant stranger's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed into a still heap, succumbing to the poison of the stinger still embedded in his leg.

**- W - C - F -**

Lioo-ka had immediately volunteered to stay with the stranger and ease him through the last of his life. It was the least he could do for someone who had given that life protecting him and the others. There was no discussion. There was no need for one. The Oompa-Loompas immediately set about figuring a way to move the large, unconscious man from the ground up to their village. It took a lot of them to do it, but they finally had the brave one safely ensconced in their largest abode, the meeting house. Tato-ku, the healer, left his apprentice with all of the herbs and other items he would need to take care of the brave stranger.

Oomloo-le stared sadly at the still form as Lioo-ka wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. "We can't keep calling him a stranger," the chief commented. "He gave himself to protect those most precious to us, to me." He pondered for awhile, wishing that things had turned out differently, but Oompa-Loompas had long ago learned to accept life as it was. "We will call him, Wokati."

Lioo-ka nodded and watched his chief leave. He stroked his charge's unusually soft hair. "Wokati," he whispered. It was a good name for this brave one, because it meant courage. The young healer spent three days, unwavering in his chosen duty, tending the dying man. On the morning of the fourth day, he woke to see Wokati's eyes were open and staring at him in bewilderment.

The young Oompa-Loompa was confused but overjoyed. Never before had someone survived the sting of the dreaded whangdoodle! He suddenly didn't know what to do first, spread the news or tend his charge. Fortunately, his training took over and steadied him. First, he offered the injured man water, letting drink as much as he would. The fever from the sting had dehydrated him badly. Having long since checked the man's odd pack, he offered him a bit of the little store of food there as well as some berries. As soon as his charge's eyes slid closed again in restful sleep, he was at the door, looking for someone to take the news to their chief. He swiftly signed the joyous information to the first person he saw and requested that Oomloo-le be told immediately. They bowed to each other and the hunter hastened his footsteps.

Soon the entire village was buzzing with the news. An air of celebration filled the air for the first time in many moons. The Oompa-Loompas had found little cause to party lately and the singular survival of Wokati was just the excuse they needed. Oomloo-le and Tato-ku joined Lioo-ka in waiting anxiously for their now honored guest to waken again.

Tato-ku spoke in the nearly silent language of the Oompa-Loompas. "Lioo-ka, with this, you are now a full healer. You have learned all I had to teach and performed your duties fully and well," he praised his newly declared colleague, feeling a burden lift from his shoulders. He was getting so old and weak; his time was near and it was a relief that there was a fine, well-trained healer, young and strong, but already wise in knowledge, to take up his duties.

Lioo-ka felt doubly stunned. He was no longer an apprentice, but a healer? He was a healer! He suddenly felt older as he bowed, accepting his new duties with a newfound maturity.

Oomloo-le clasped the young healer's hand in his. "We have even more cause to celebrate tonight, my friend. It will be many suns before Wokati will be up and about, but you must attend as our guest of honor." He shook his head as Lioo-ka tried to protest. "No, I know you feel your duty lies here, tending Wokati, but you will leave him to other tender care long enough to accept your new post and adulthood, Lioo-ka."

Lioo-ka bowed obediently to his chief and his teacher. They suddenly realized they were being observed curiously by their brave guest. The chief bowed deeply to Wokati, feeling a deep swell of gratitude. Extraordinarily uncanny eyes blinked, and Wokati nodded his head weakly in response. They left him to rest under Lioo-ka's tender care, discussing the fantastic differences between this man and their people. Why had they never heard of others like him? Where had he come from?

Many suns passed, almost a moon, but now Wokati was up and about, observing the Oompa-Loompas as they went about their daily lives with fascination. During the time that he had spent in Lioo-ka's charge, Wokati had absorbed their language like a sponge. Small basics had given way to more complex communication with astonishing speed. Wokati was obviously extremely intelligent. Finally, he was summoned to speak with the chief of the tribe.

Wokati was extremely nervous as he waited. Lioo-ka had to reassure him time and again that yes, he did look fine. No, he did not need to give the chief a gift. The young healer was amused that someone who could bravely fight off a vast swarm of whangdoodles was so anxious about speaking with someone so much smaller in size than himself. He would need to speak with Oolo, there were obviously some disturbing things in Wokati's past. Perhaps, they could help their new friend and in some small way repay him for his courageous sacrifice.

Oomloo-le bowed to Wokati as he entered and sat before him. He was pleased when Wokati bowed back properly. The chief mashed up green caterpillars with red slugs and the bark of the bong-bong tree in preparation of offering food to his guest as was the Oompa-Loompa custom. He was delighted as Wokati made the proper responses, first attempting to refuse the offered dish and then sampling it, before returning it to the chief. That was when Wokati surprised him, though looking back, perhaps he shouldn't have been.

Wokati requested that the Oompa-Loompas journey with him across the great waters to work at his home. He would pay them in cocoa beans if they wished, as many as they wanted to have. Oomloo-le was shocked, but swiftly responded to the generous offer, mindful of the prophecy made when he was a youngling in training to lead their tribe. The prophet had informed their chief, his father, that one day an odd stranger would come to the tribe and offer them a new home with more cocoa beans that all the tribe could dream of together. The offer must be accepted immediately, he had stated firmly, if their people were to not only survive, but thrive. Oomloo-le had spent his youth recalling that prophecy every night, wondering eagerly when it would come true. Time, experience and life had diminished its urgency, left him thinking it would come after his service as chief, but never was it forgotten. The new friends bowed to each other before Oomloo-le accepted Wokati's finger in a 'handshake' as he had learned their guest's people used to close agreements. An Oompa-Loompa could never hope to enclose Wokati's hand as it was much too big, only a single finger.

Their guest had departed soon after, promising to return as quickly as he could make arrangements for their departure. The tribe had busily prepared for many suns, eagerly awaiting Wokati's return. As the sun rose and set time and again with no sign of their friend and now benefactor's return, some began to doubt the munificent offer. Oomloo-le, Teki-la, Oolo, Lioo-ka and Tato-ku scolded these naysayers for their doubts. Why would Wokati lie to them after risking his life fighting off the whangdoodles?

Finally, Wokati came back as he promised. He was greeted with much enthusiasm by his friends among the tribe. After a great feast, everyone made their final preparations and the next sun found the entire Oompa-Loompa tribe following Wokati through the jungle until they reached the great water. Wokati frequently carried some of the younglings or the elder members as they tired. Tato-ku was resting in his arms when the tribe saw the mighty vessel that Wokati had brought to transport them to their new home. That journey was strange then as they went from, as they later learned, a freighter to a jet airplane, and then a truck.

It was night when Wokati pulled the truck to a stop. He got out and did something, before driving them a very short distance more, went back and closed the mighty gates he had opened. All of the tribe was tired from their journey, as Lioo-ka could see Wotaki was as well. They padded silently in the warm night air, through enormous doors and followed, children asleep in their parents' arms, as Wotaki led them down and down and down. He extracted a ring of clinking, chiming keys as they reached a pair of mighty, ornately decorated doors. Anxious and excited, the Oompa-Loompas woke their children, not wanting them to miss this moment. The tribe waited breathlessly as Wotaki, Willy Wonka to his own people, opened the doors to the most wonderful sight in the world, the Great Cocoa Forest in the Wonka Chocolate Factory. The Oompa-Loompas were, at long last, home.

The next morning, the tribe woke to see the wonder of the night before was no dream. Many of them wandered through the forest, soaking in the sights, sounds and scents, while their chief and other leaders of the tribe discussed plans with Wokati. It did not take them long to give their host and employer a new name, Pataki, Dear Heart, for Willy could not hide his kind, generous heart from the Oompa-Loompas. Classes were arranged to teach the tribe the things that they would need to know. Pataki taught the tribe English, mathematics, writing, science, mechanics and many other things, even while he worked on plans to change the largest factory in the world so it could be run by the little Oompa-Loompas.

The day dawned, bright and clear, when Oomloo-le, now called Richard, and Willy Wonka ceremoniously turned the switch that started the machinery. Smoke rose from the grand smokestacks, scenting the air with the sweet aroma of Wonka chocolate once more.

And from that day, no one left the factory. Only the delivery trucks were allowed into the courtyard to pick up the candy and chocolate and leave the few things that were needed from the outside.

Until one fateful day, Willy Wonka went walking in the park to a momentous meeting with Charlie Bucket.


	53. Chapter 52 The End of the Tale, er, Tail

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

**

* * *

Chapter 52 - The End of the Tale, er, Tail?**

Charlie blushed and smiled charmingly, startled to find himself included in Richard's story. He turned to pet Willy, only to discover the unicorn had disappeared. "Where's Willy?"

The surrounding Oompa-Loompas looked at each other and giggled madly. Richard sighed and smiled indulgently at his people. "Willy is back to himself," he explained. "He ran into Dr. Luke's office to hide."

"Hide? Why did Willy hide?" Mrs. Bucket frowned, suddenly very concerned.

Richard laughed. He couldn't help himself. "No clothes," he said with a grin, causing the other Oompa-Loompas to giggle again. The chief shot a glance at them, which made them smother their amusement. "Fortunately, he was covered with a blanket when he fell asleep while I was telling you of our first meeting."

Charlie frowned. "He's alright, isn't he?"

Richard smiled reassuringly and nodded. "He was very swift in his departure. Dr. Luke followed him and I believe he sent someone to fetch Willy some of his clothes." He stood up and made a gesture. The Oompa-Loompas scattered. "Come, it's quite close by."

Charlie smiled and climbed to his feet. He offered his mother a hand in standing. The Buckets followed Richard. He was right, it was very close. Charlie wondered why he hadn't noticed the door earlier. They watched as the chief knocked.

"Willy? Dr. Luke?" Richard called.

"Go 'way!" Willy's voice was higher than normal and sounded childishly stubborn.

"Willy, Charlie and Mrs. Bucket are worried about you," the chief chided gently. Silence stretched by them, causing them to become more concerned. He shook his head. "Don't make me come in there!" Richard declared sounding just like a father.

Dr. Luke opened the door just enough for him. "Now you've done it," he scolded his chief.

"What?" Richard frowned. "Not another one!"

Dr. Luke nodded, confirming what his chief now feared.

"Blast!" Richard looked around. "Where's Edmund?"

"Another what?" Charlie asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid Willy is having a flashback," Luke stated.

"Willy is over his flashback," a childish voice responded. "Close the door and stop talking about me."

Richard gestured to Dr. Luke. "Willy, may we come in?"

"NO!"

The Oompa-Loompas sighed deeply.

"Please, Willy!" Charlie spoke up quickly, his concern evident in his young voice.

"N-no," the chocolatier answered, suddenly not sounding so positive about his negative response.

"Please?"

"I-I don't have any gloves on."

Charlie and Mrs. Bucket exchanged telling looks, finding that response very odd indeed. Why was Willy worrying about his gloves, when he wasn't wearing any clothes? It seemed silly and was most peculiar.

"Glove maker," Dr. Luke said gently.

"Oh. Yeah," Willy responded sheepishly, "I forgot." There was a rustle of movement inside.

Mrs. Bucket nodded encouragingly at her son. "May we come in now?" Charlie requested politely.

"I . . . guess so," Willy slowly responded, his voice full of reluctance.

Charlie pushed the door open wider and peered inside. He ran up to his friend as soon as he spotted him and hugged him gently. "You're you again," he exclaimed happily, before stepping back to examine him more closely. "Well mostly," he finished with a giggle. For Willy Wonka was indeed mostly himself, even if he was wrapped in a blanket and only wearing his lavender gloves, except the horn still rose from below his short bangs. A nervous twitch revealed that Willy also still possessed his tail. The boy stared in startled fascination for it looked just like the unicorn's, including the soft, short white fur and the chocolate tuft on the end. His hair was also still tightly braided with the slender ribbons. Charlie covered his mouth, trying to smother his laughter. Willy was quite a sight to see!

Willy tugged on one of the braids, proving he was well aware of his new hair style. "Yeah," he frowned mightily as he glared at the offending braid and ribbon.

Mrs. Bucket was struggling to contain her own laughter. "I'll help you take them out, dear," she offered.

"Thank you," Willy said gratefully as he sank down to sit in a chair, only to yelp. He jumped up and turned to stare suspiciously at the chair, his tail curled out from under the concealing blanket once more.

Charlie gave the appendage a very gentle tug, which caused Willy to whirl around again. He looked at his young friend in surprise. Charlie smiled at him and pointed behind him. With a wary look, Willy peeked over his shoulder. He gasped as he caught sight of his tail. One gloved hand crept up slowly to feel his forehead and soon found the single horn spiraling up.

A blush crept over Willy's cheeks and he looked down at his bare feet. One foot curved over the other. "Why do I only have one horn?" He asked softly.

"You were a unicorn," Richard said with a cheeky grin. He knew and Willy knew he knew that the chocolatier was only just now discovering his unwittingly broken promise. They exchanged telling looks and both men nodded as they came to a silent understanding. The chief would not call Willy on his actions in return for Willy not calling the tribe on theirs in revealing themselves to the Buckets.

Willy made a face. "I do not turn into myths," he frowned. "I'm always something real." His head tilted to one side as he considered that. "I wonder if unicorns are extinct or if they're just really good at hiding from people."

Charlie poked him in the side. "You were really good at hiding. It took us forever to catch you!"

Richard nodded. "You swam across the river in the Electric Underground to get away from us."

"I did?" Willy looked very startled at that news.

"Yes," Richard nodded firmly. "Charlie finally managed to catch you in the side courtyard with some apples."

"I like apples," Willy had to agree.

"We know!" Richard and Dr. Luke chorused and giggled.

"You didn't want to leave Charlie's side after that," Mrs. Bucket added. Willy looked at her. "It made it very difficult for him to go to school," she stated dryly.

"Oh," Willy giggled nervously, before bending down to ask Charlie in a loud whisper. "Is it a school day?"

"Yes," Charlie had to admit. He hastened to add as Willy blushed again. "But they let us out early because the heating broke down." He hugged him again. "You saved Jenny and me from a bad man with a knife!"

"I did?" Willy straightened, looking stunned. He frowned for a second. "Who's Jenny?"

"One of my classmates," Charlie explained. "A man attempted to take her on the way home from school. I tried to stop him, but he pulled out a knife! You appeared out of nowhere and fought him off." He hugged him again. "You were really brave! He ran away when we heard sirens and you hid. We were worried because it took a long time for you to return home."

"You had a long, shallow gash on your foreleg," Dr. Luke added. "How does it feel?"

Willy peeked under the blanket, checking his arms and shrugged. "It's okay. My leg and wrist don't hurt either."

"Oh?" Curious, the doctor slipped under Willy's blanket and looked for himself. Everyone clearly heard his 'Hmm' as he examined Willy's leg. He finally came out and looked up at his patient. "Your leg is completely healed. The scar is almost gone," he informed him, puzzled.

"Could the unicorn have healed Willy?"

"Huh?" The chocolatier looked to Charlie in surprise at his question.

"You healed Jenny. She didn't have any bruises where that horrible man grabbed her," Charlie explained.

Richard, Mrs. Bucket and Dr. Luke exchanged surprised looks, as Willy considered that. "I trust the police caught that evil man!" He frowned. "Despicable! Attacking children!"

"Actually, they haven't caught him yet," Mrs. Bucket replied. "All the parents are scrambling to make sure their children are safe going to school and coming home again."

"I hope you haven't allowed Charlie to go alone," Willy asked, somewhat anxiously. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Bucket would do everything in their power to protect Charlie from harm; he just needed to hear it for himself.

"I wouldn't have, except a certain someone kept trying to follow him to school," she answered. She rested a gentle hand on Willy's shoulder at his stricken look. "It's alright Willy. As a unicorn, you didn't understand and I knew that if that man tried again, you would know."

"I would?"

"Yes, you would. You ran out of the factory so fast that day no one could even think to try and stop you."

"We didn't understand it at all," Richard added. "We thought something had frightened you. It wasn't until Mrs. Bucket returned with Charlie and they told us what happened that we realized you had known he was in danger."

Just then a couple of Oompa-Loompas appeared with Willy's clothes. Dr. Luke stared at them for a second. "We will need them altered for your tail," he stated slowly.

"Ah," Willy held a finger up for a moment, before lowering it. "I guess you're right." He sat down again, more carefully this time so he wouldn't sit on his new appendage. "Mrs. Bucket, would you mind . . . ?" He gestured helplessly at his hair.

The woman smiled and carefully began to undo the elaborate braids. Charlie giggled again before starting on the ones on the other side.


	54. Chapter 53 News and New Ideas

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

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**Chapter 53 - News and New Ideas**

By the time Charlie and Mrs. Bucket got all of the braids undone and ribbons removed, Willy's freshly altered clothes were returned to him. Mother and son left the chocolatier to dress in private. He soon stepped out of Dr. Luke's office looking much more like himself, his hands tugging his shirt sleeves to make sure they were settled properly before smoothing his frock coat and his hair. Willy bestowed a wide grin on the waiting Buckets and Oompa-Loompas.

Richard stepped forward and bowed to the chocolatier. "Mr. and Mrs. Bucket have assured me that they are staying," he announced grandly.

"They are?" Willy looked stunned. His tail rose hopefully in a graceful curve. "You are?" He anxiously asked Mrs. Bucket.

"We are," Harriet Bucket declared firmly. She smiled warmly as Willy grabbed her son's hands and they danced around joyfully.

"You're staying!" Willy laughed, only to freeze at an unexpected feeling of weight on the tip of his tail. He twisted around to look and found that two wumbles were firmly holding on to the tuft.

"They want to play," Charlie explained. "They want you to play." He explained the game that they'd been playing earlier.

"But there's so much work," Willy protested, pulling his tail around to the front. He gently dislodged the bold, colorful pair from it. "I'm so behind I'm almost in front of last year!"

"Not as behind as that," Dr. Luke responded.

"It's not like we don't know our jobs, Pataki," Richard said calmly. "Doris and your secretarial pool have all of your paperwork up to date. There's just that bit that requires your signature."

"The candy lines are humming along nicely and shipments are all on schedule," Dr. Luke added.

Willy tilted his head to one side in contemplation. "Then what do you need me for?" He wondered in a tiny voice.

"To invent new candies!" The Oompa-Loompas sang loudly in a musical chorus.

"To do the maintenance that we can't do," Richard added, "and create new inventions."

"To make us laugh and sing," came in a chorus of giggles.

"To be our friend and dearest heart," Doris signed before gently hugging one of his long legs.

"To protect us from whangdoodles, hornswogglers and snozzwangers," a group of youngsters sang with a shiver.

"There aren't any here," Willy pointed out, reasonably enough, he thought.

"To stop . . . Them," a young girl Oompa-Loompa sang in a high sweet voice before hiding behind her father.

"Them?" Charlie looked up at Willy, curious. Who were 'them'?

"The Vermicious Knids," Richard explained. Seeing the Buckets were still bewildered, he elaborated. "They live in the vacuum of space and want nothing more than to destroy this world." He bowed to the chocolatier. "Willy is the only one stopping them."

"That and they burn up on re-entry," Willy muttered.

"Still, no one else realizes they exist or does anything about their vicious plots. Some of them would have succeeded if not for you," Richard stated. All of the Oompa-Loompas bowed deeply to honor the bravery of Wokati who promptly blushed and his tail twitched.

Charlie had to smile as he watched Willy's tail move nervously. As long as it was there, he would know what his friend was feeling. It was obvious the Oompa-Loompas thought Willy was great and just as obvious that it made him feel embarrassed. Of course, he agreed completely with the little tribe. Willy was great and a real hero! He knew that very well. Willy had saved his life twice as well as Jenny's and his mom's. He hoped he could be as brave when it was needed as Willy was, not realizing he had already acted the same way when he'd tried to save Jenny from that man. He too would be embarrassed if someone praised him the way the Oompa-Loompas were Willy Wonka.

Willy bent down to look at Doris. "You have papers for me to sign?" His violet eyes pleaded silently for an escape. His personal assistant nodded and indicated they were in his in box, just waiting for him to find time (and hands) to deal with them. The chocolatier puffed a silent sigh of relief before straightening with a wide (and very fake) smile. "Well, let's get to it then!" He turned his attention to his friend and Mrs. Bucket. "You can stay here if you like and, erm, explore. 'Kay?"

Charlie glanced around and, to the chocolatier's surprise (Who wouldn't want to explore the Cocoa Forest?), shook his head. "Some other time," he replied and followed Willy to the door. He would rather do that with his friend. "I'll go through some more of your photo albums, if that's alright?"

"Sure," Willy nodded and gestured with his cane. "Let's boogie!"

Charlie hesitated. "Mom?"

"Go on, Charlie," his mother said. "I'll just gather up our picnic things and get back to cleaning."

Richard tugged on her dress as the 'boys' left. "We would be happy to assist you, Mrs. Bucket." A group of Oompa-Loompa assembled, giggling. "We love helping Willy with his work and would like very much to help you and Mr. Bucket as well." The little group nodded.

Mrs. Bucket looked startled at the unexpected offer. No one had ever offered to help them before, well, before Willy Wonka. Buckets always helped themselves. She looked down and found dark eyes sparkling hopefully up at her. "Yes, of course." What else could she say? The offer was too gracious and kind. It would be rude to turn them down. The women laughed and followed her to the picnic spread.

**- W - C - F -**

Charlie skipped along beside Willy as his long legs hurried them away from the source of his embarrassment. The boy could tell that the further they got, the calmer Willy was getting as his tail stopped twitching and finally settled into a graceful curve behind his back.

Every once in a while it swished back and forth as Willy's thoughts drifted to other distractions. The largest distraction was the idea that the Buckets were staying. The very notion made Willy want to turn a somersault. Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he did just that. Charlie's eyes grew huge and blue as the sky as he watched his friend turn a cartwheel down the hallway, his top hat falling off. With a laugh, the boy ran to collect it and the discarded cane, dashing after Willy, wondering if he would teach him how to do that.

Willy laughed and accepted his belongings once more, before leading the way up the corridor his cane waving like the baton in front of a marching band. The pair of friends happily marched all the way back to Executive Row and Willy's office. Soon enough, they were back in their now familiar places, Willy scribbling his curly signature at the bottom of papers and Charlie sitting on the window seat, poring over the pictures in Willy's candy shop photo albums.

Now, everyone who has ever signed papers before recognizes that this rapidly becomes a boring repetition which allows the one signing to be easily distracted. And it was no different for Willy Wonka as he considered what to do now that the Buckets were officially staying on at the factory. First, there was consideration of the swiftly approaching holidays. Charlie and his mom and dad would have to be invited to the Factory Christmas Eve Concert and Dance. There was no two ways about that! Also, he would need to get his friend a present for the holiday. This would be a definite puzzle since he hadn't given any one except the Oompa-Loompas presents in, well, forever! In fact, the only other person that he had ever given a real present-type present to was his departed father. What did one give to one's best friend in the whole wide world? The Oompa-Loompas were easy. They liked nothing better than cocoa beans. Somehow, Willy didn't think Charlie wanted a cocoa bean! He suddenly realized he would also need to get Mr. Bucket and Mrs. Bucket something as well. After all, they had been and were being nicer than nice to him. It fair made him dizzy just thinking about it!

Charlie slowly became aware that the scratching of Willy's pen had slowed to a crawl. Wondering if his friend was coming to the end of his paperwork, he looked up. The sight before him made his heart leap in concern. Willy was staring off, unseeing, at the far wall with a glazed look in his eyes. His face appeared even paler than normal. Worried his friend was having a reaction to his transformation or something like one of those nasty flashbacks, the boy immediately went to his side, gently touching his arm. "Willy? Are you alright?"

Wonka started and looked down to find the paper he was signing was blotched with ink from his pen. He hastily lifted it from the paper and sighed in exasperation. Doris would have to do that one over again. He hated when he gave her more work. He blinked again, only now realizing Charlie was there, looking at him anxiously. "Oh, I'm fine, Charlie, just chipper. I was thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

"You and Mr. and Mrs. Bucket staying and Christmas." He turned to face his young friend properly. "It's been quite awhile since I actually did anything for Christmas," he explained seriously, "except for the concert and dance for the Oompa-Loompas that is. I don't know if I remember how." His tail trembled with distress. He wanted Charlie to be happy in the factory. He wanted his first Christmas here to be special!

Charlie leaned forward and wondered how to reassure Willy. It wasn't like he expected a lot. They never did anything really big for Christmas anyway. It was always enough that they were together. "We'll figure it out," he responded soothingly.

Willy's brow furrowed as he tried to remember things from distant, past Christmases. He tried to recall the things that he had wanted and, for the most part, never had. "A tree! You'll need a Christmas tree!" That part was easy. There was always a large tree at the concert and dance. What else? "A wreath for your door," he added with a firm nod. Willy pulled a pad over and chewed thoughtfully on his pen before starting a list. "Is there something you want special, Charlie?"

The boy blinked in befuddled surprise. Him? What did he want? He pulled on Willy's shirt sleeve until he leaned down enough for him to whisper in his ear. "Will you help me make something for Mom and Dad, please?"

Violet eyes met blue. "Of course, Charlie," Willy whispered back softly. Their heads were almost touching as they began discussing ideas.


	55. Chapter 54 Getting Ready

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

My apologies to everyone for the long delay between this chapter and the last. It was never my intention and I do most sincerely and abashedly apologize for it. Hopefully, the next wait will not be so long. **  
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**Chapter 54 - Getting Ready**

Charlie smiled at Willy as he scribbled and scratched on his lists. It was amazing how many things the chocolatier could think at the same time. There was a list of things the Buckets would need for the holiday. Another list held the ideas that they'd discussed Charlie giving his parents. Other lists held ideas and notions that buzzed into Willy's head about brand new confections. The boy rapidly got the idea that Willy liked lists and writing things down on paper. Doris came in, causing a brief interruption, as she collected the neatly signed paperwork and replaced the candy ink stained sheet.

Willy pushed his chair back from his desk, examining his lists thoughtfully. "First things first! We need to get you a tree and a wreath." He led the way to the door, his tail curling and turning and uncurling with his thoughts. He bent down to look his young friend in the eyes. "Do you want mistletoe? For your M-Mo-Mrs. Bucket and Mr. Bucket?"

Charlie frowned and scratched his head, puzzled. He knew very little about Christmas traditions. It was just a time for them to be together, enjoying each others company, for his mom to tell the Christmas story and everyone else to tell other stories. Yes, he knew that other families got presents and good food and things that his family couldn't afford, but that was all he really knew. "What is mistletoe for?"

Willy giggled. "Couples kiss when they accidentally or purposely stand under it."

"Ew!" Charlie and Willy said together which made them both break out into giggles. Charlie was once more reminded how childlike Willy Wonka really was. Was it because of the time spent alone in his factory? Or was there some other reason? He followed his friend down the now familiar corridors and ramps until they were on the level with the greenhouses once more. The candy maker led the way to a new one that Charlie hadn't visited. He pulled out his key-ring and flipped his way around it until he found the one he was searching for. He unlocked the door and allowed Charlie to enter before him.

The boy stood for a moment, staring in awe at the beautiful, full evergreens standing in perfect rows. Slowly, he moved further into the vast room. He breathed deeply and was surprised to smell mint, not the expected sharp odor of pine or fir. He looked back at Willy curiously, his eyes questioning.

"These are fir-mints," Willy explained in response to Charlie's silent question. He strolled down a row of the beautiful trees, inspecting each one carefully. He pulled a needle from a particularly full branch and offered it to his friend.

Charlie accepted the narrow leaf and sniffed it. It smelled delicious! He placed it on his tongue, his eyes sliding closed as the marvelous flavor filled his taste buds. It was highly delectable and one of the best tastes he had ever had.

"Now," Willy started, peering down the row and glancing back at Charlie, "what size tree do you want?" He waved a hand at the nearest row of trees, each one taller than the next, "Go on. Pick one!"

Charlie felt stunned at the thought of a Christmas tree, one for him and his family! He looked down the row, feeling bewildered. He pointed to a small tree, just a bit taller than him.

Willy shook his head. "That will never do! You need a bigger one than that!" He strolled down the row, until he came to some trees that topped over his head and top hat. "Something like these! Yeah!" His tail curled and his head cocked to one side as he examined the trees closely. He finally decided. "This one," he said, pointing to a beautiful specimen. He rolled his tongue rapidly up and down, making a funny sound.

Charlie laughed quietly at the funny noise, just like the one Richard had made to call his people to him. Sure enough, a group of Oompa-Lompas soon gathered round. These wore forest green overalls. They waited patiently for their instructions.

Willy gestured toward the tree, his hands flowing in peculiar patterns. "Please cut down this tree and deliver it to the Buckets for their use as a Christmas tree." He finished by crossing his arms and touching his shoulders with his fingers curled in and bowed.

The workers giggled and bowed back. Some of them scurried away to get the equipment they would need for the job, while others circled the chosen tree, looking it over with knowledgeable eyes. One of the little men gestured fluently to Willy.

"Of course! The Buckets will need all the trimmings. You may all help them decorate if you like," Willy answered, causing another round of laughter and a buzz of excitement to build.

Charlie watched in awe as small machines were driven up to the tree. Oompa-Loompas hurried about, expertly wrapping the tree in candy-netting, carefully bundling it up to prevent damage to its beautiful branches. Others followed hooking up taffy ropes and licorice cables from several cranes so it wouldn't fall when they sawed through the trunk.

"Splendid! We can leave that in the Oompa-Lompas' capable hands. Come on, Charlie, let's choose a wreath!" Willy bounced as he led the way out of the green house and down the corridor once more. The boy followed, feeling breathless with unaccustomed excitement as they hurried down the hallway to the Cocoa Forest.

Charlie wondered why they were going there, but kept silent as Willy once more made his peculiar call for the Oompa-Loompas as they entered. The little people seemed to tumble out of thin air as they gathered around Dear Heart and his young friend. The chocolatier knelt down and smiled widely. "The Buckets need a wreath," he informed the crowd.

Giggles filled the air as the Oompa-Loompas scattered. Before Charlie could even blink, they were returning with items to present to them. There were different types of greenery, color ribbon, ornaments and other things as well. So many choices!

Willy pointed to some round wire looking objects. "First, you need to decide what size you want to have."

Charlie blinked, but obediently looked at the selections. He knew he shouldn't choose a small one, because Willy would have none of that, but he also knew it had to be small enough for the door. Finally, he pointed to a medium size frame that he thought would fit the door of the Ivy Suite.

"Excellent choice." Willy exclaimed happily. He nodded to the person holding that one and the other selections were removed. "Now, next you need the type of boughs that will make up the wreath." He led Charlie over to the Oompa-Loompas standing beside boughs and vines and other greenery.

This one was easy. Charlie knew only one type of greenery would be fit for the Buckets' first Christmas wreath. It had to be traditional and that meant green, preferably evergreen. He examined the offerings before pointing to a nice green bough with feathery needles. It looked absolutely just right for a Christmas wreath!

After that, he had to choose ribbon and ornaments. Following careful consideration, Charlie chose a wide, burgundy red ribbon for the bow and tiny bells of different colors that seemed to glow. Everything else was whisked away as Oompa-Loompas set to work, making a brand new wreath before his very eyes.

"Let's leave them to it, Charlie," Willy beckoned the boy to follow him. "We should check on the tree." As the two friends walked back up the long halls and corridors, they discussed the ideas for presents that Charlie could make for his mom and dad, trying to decide which would be the best.

The candy maker's head tilted curiously to one side as he stopped. "Do you hear something?"

"Hear what, Willy?" Charlie paused and listened carefully. He shook his head, looking up at the man, clearly puzzled.

"Ah, I must have been imagining things," Willy shrugged and took a step, only to halt abruptly. "There it is again!" He spun around in a circle, like a dog chasing its tail, trying to catch whoever was making the odd sound.

Charlie giggled as he saw Willy's tail curved into a question mark. There, right before the tuft of chocolate hair on the end, was a beautiful tied bow, the perfect match to Willy Wonka's coat, holding a set of silver and gold jingle bells. They jingled with sweet, pure tones as Willy turned around in a frustrated circle.

The candy maker peered with a puzzled look at Charlie from under his hat, his horn gleaming in the light of the hall. The boy giggled again, he couldn't help himself and pointed behind Willy. The man spun around again, chasing the sound.

Charlie shook his head. "You have bells tied to your tail," he explained.

"Bells?" Willy's brow furrowed for a moment. "I've been belled?" The boy nodded at his friend. "Like a cat!" He suddenly made a sound that was half purr and half growl, before pretending to pounce on Charlie, his fingers tickling the boy's sides. Peals of laughter bubbled up from inside Charlie under the teasing. His eyes gleamed as he tried to retaliate, only to be frustrated by Wonka's multiple layers of clothes. Willy strutted down the hallway, his tail held high as he yowled softly.

Charlie chased after him, but his friend danced away. He shook his tail so the bells jingled merrily. Before you could say Christmas, Willy was ringing a joyous tune with his belled tail. The friends chased each other up and down the hall, around in circles, until they reached the outside of the Ivy Suite. Willy paused to straighten his coat and hat, before bowing Charlie in front of him to open the door and lead the way inside, both of them laughing.

Harriet Bucket smiled as the friends entered. It was wonderful to hear her son laughing, to see his face flushed, his eyes sparkling with happiness. She wiped her hands on a towel. The decision to remain in the Factory was the right one. She was sure of it now, seeing the joy radiating from both Charlie and Willy. She stifled a laugh as she watched Willy stalk some of the Oompa-Loompas putting up the beautiful tree they had brought.

"So the Oompa-Loompa mice thought to bell the Willy-cat?" The candy maker purred teasingly. His targets giggled and scattered as he tried to pounce on one, escaping easily. Willy sat up from the floor with a pout. "I guess a belled Willy-cat does have trouble catching a mouse." His violet eyes shone with humor as he observed an Oompa-Loompa sneaking around the nearby couch. Willy immediately sprang forward and gently captured his little friend between his lavender gloved hands. "Ah ha! Caught you, Simon!"

Simon and Willy both giggled wildly as another Oompa-Loompa, greatly daring, tried to get near enough to pull on Willy's tail. The chocolatier cat was not so easily sneaked upon and swiftly turned to snag the new 'mouse'. "Got you too, Ned!" He sat with his two prize catches in his lap, they laughed as he made hungry sounds as if he was really a cat interested in eating a mouse or two.

Willy smiled and released his captives as he twisted to look up at Mrs. Bucket. "Do you want to wait for Mr. Bucket? Or shall we go ahead with decorating the tree?"

"It was very nice of you to give us a Christmas tree, Willy," Mrs. Bucket responded. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to do it." Willy's eyes sparkled. "Do we wait? I promised the Oompa-Loompas they could help," he added with a gesture toward the little men who promptly giggled and nodded.

"Let's surprise Mr. Bucket," she answered, "and decorate it now."

This brought a cheer and several Oompa-Loompas scurried into the hallway, returning shortly carrying several boxes. Charlie and Mrs. Bucket watched curiously as they opened them, revealing rows of small clear ornaments. Charlie felt a twinge of disappointment, wishing they were brightly colored.

"Look!" Willy smiled widely, his eyes full of mystery, as he picked up on of the balls. He held it up and gently ran a finger around the equator. Much to their wonder and amazement, the clear sphere began to shine a bright, vivid violet. "You do one, Charlie! You too, Mrs. Bucket!" Willy began to hand out the small candy ornaments to everyone, urging them run a finger around them. "Everyone makes them shine a different color!"

Charlie eagerly ran his finger around the ball he held and gasped as it began to glow a brilliant emerald green. Mrs. Bucket gently ran her finger around the one in her hand and was surprised as it glowed a cobalt blue. The Oompa-Loompas laughed as they made the balls they held shine. Soon there were bright orange, red, turquoise, rose, lavender and cream colored balls shining on the tree. Charlie noticed Willy making his shine different colors, soon adding plum red, purple, gold and silver to their selections. The boy wondered how he did that, since he said everyone made different colors. He went to lean against the taller man as he hung an ornament near the top of the tree. "Can I do that?"

"Do what?" Willy looked down at his friend. "Reach this high? I guess I could pick you up or we could just get a ladder. Yeah!"

"No, I meant can I do different colors like you?"

Willy looked at the clear ornament in his hand and chewed his lower lip for a moment. "Take it and feel the color you want," he instructed. Charlie's brow furrowed as he contemplated his friend's strange instruction. How did you feel color? He closed his eyes and concentrated, before carefully running a finger around the ball in his hand. He blinked open to stare in open mouthed wonder as Willy and the Oompa-Loompas applauded. In his hand, the once clear ornament glowed a royal blue.


	56. Chapter 55 Changing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

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**Chapter 55 - Changing**

Willy giggled gleefully as he and Charlie attempted to do one of the balls at the same time. As he'd hoped, the results were spectacular as it glowed with two different colors, scarlet and royal purple. The two friends set to work on other balls, the Oompa-Loompas hanging the results on the tree as fast as they could. Soon the tree was glowing with colors, the only thing missing was something on top.

The chocolatier stroked his chin, deep in thought, as he wondered what to use for the top. Charlie sat back on his heels, staring up at the beautiful Christmas tree, a warm glow filling his heart. Mrs. Bucket smiled warmly as she stared at her son, happy to see the joyous look on his face. The Oompa-Loompas scurried around, tidying things up as their boss pondered the tree. Finally, Willy raised a finger as he got an idea. He knelt down to whisper and make hand signs to one of his little workers. The worker bowed and hurried out the door, eagerly giggling as he went.

Charlie looked up at Willy, curiosity on his face, wondering what he was up to now.

"Stars in their Pies, my boy," Willy answered with a wink. "We need a star for the top of the tree!"

Charlie nodded in agreement. "A star would be perfect, Willy!"

Soon, Guy returned with a large star in his hands. It was almost half his size and he carried it very carefully. He held it up toward Willy who accepted the sweet star and examined it all over. "I wonder," he whispered to himself. "Charlie, just like with the glow balls, run your finger around the edge and think of gold."

Gold? Charlie stood, frowning thoughtfully. He suddenly smiled as his mind filled with thoughts of his friendship with Willy Wonka, remembering the song about friends being silver and gold. Willy was definitely gold and beyond price! He obediently touched the edge of the star with his finger as Willy touched the center of the crystalline sugar star. Their eyes slid shut as they concentrated. Finished, both blinked to stare at their tree topper. It glowed golden on the outside. Inside, matching the outer shape of the star, it sparkled with all the colors that filled the limbs of the tree. It was exquisitely beautiful!

Willy smiled widely as he climbed a ladder to place it in the perfect position on the very top of the tree. The silver and gold bells on the tip of his tail jingled merrily. Just then, Mr. Bucket opened the door with a cheerful call of "Evening Buckets!"

Startled, Willy stepped back. Now, as anyone knows, it is never wise to step back on a ladder, for there is almost never anything there to step back on. With a cry, Willy and the ladder fell over. The candy maker landed on the floor with a "oompf". The Oompa-Loompas sprinted forward just in time to catch the ladder before it could land on Pataki.

"Willy!" Three Buckets cried out and ran to his side. "Are you alright?" Mrs. Bucket asked as she stared down at the fallen man.

"I'm okay," Willy raised a hand up. He sat up and rubbed his bottom. "I think I bruised my tail." He giggled. "Literally."

"I'm sorry, Willy," Mr. Bucket apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," the chocolatier replied. "I should have been paying closer attention." He smiled up at his three friends. Charlie offered his hand and helped to pull Willy to his feet. "Do you like your Christmas tree?"

"Do you, Dad?" Charlie asked, smiling as his heart slowed back down from its scare.

Harry Bucket examined the tree, glowing with colors in the light of the room. If it shone like this in the light, what would it be like when they were out? "It's the grandest tree in the world!" He responded, speaking from his heart. A tree! A Christmas tree for Charlie! He caught his wife's eye. They would need to discuss presents for their son. They'd never been able to give him a Christmas like they had wanted before, but now, living in the world's largest chocolate factory and with a new better paying job, they could do it. He was positive of that!

**- W - C - F -**

By the time Monday rolled back around, the Buckets' new home was very well decorated. Besides the tree, ivy ran across the mantle of the fireplace and a few other select locations. Candy mistletoe hung from the ceiling, tempting Mr. and Mrs. Bucket to kisses. The wreath hung on their door, the bells chiming merrily when it was opened or closed. Snow, once dreaded and hated, but now welcomed, softened angles and brightened gray edges with its pristine white.

Mr. Bucket had already left for his job at Smilex. Willy had stuck his head in earlier to say he would not be coming for breakfast as there was something he had to fix in the factory complex. Mother and son enjoyed a quiet breakfast together. As Charlie went to pick up his book satchel, Mrs. Bucket stopped him. "I'll walk you to school today, Charlie."

For a moment, the boy looked startled, but remembering the mean man, he nodded his acceptance. He wondered what had happened with the man. No one had found a trace of him after his attempt to kidnap Jenny. Had he left? Were parents, police and school officials fretting themselves over someone who was long gone? How long would parents continue to hover over their children? The walk was made in companionable quiet until they neared the steps to the school. Charlie hoped the heating was working properly!

"I'll meet you when school lets out, alright, Charlie?"

"Yes, mom," Charlie agreed readily enough. It would be nice to walk with his mother since he wouldn't be taking any walks in the park with Willy. At least, not while the horn and tailed remained to draw further attention to the reclusive chocolatier's presence. He waved as she turned back toward home, waving back cheerfully. Charlie frowned slightly. Something seemed different about the chocolate factory, looming as always in the background. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something had changed.

**- W - C - F -**

Mrs. Bucket was talking with Mrs. Tompkins when Charlie exited the school. He wondered what they were discussing as they both hurriedly stopped as he neared.

"How was your day, Charlie?" Mrs. Bucket inquired.

"Fine," Charlie answered, still trying to figure out what they had been talking about. What were they keeping secret? "We watched a movie about penguins in science. It was neat!"

"Charlie, would you mind if you and your mother walked Jenny home tomorrow?"

The boy looked up at Mrs. Tompkins, still puzzled. He shrugged. "Okay."

"Thank you! And thank you, Mrs. Bucket," she said before hurrying over to collect her daughter.

Charlie eyed his mother thoughtfully.

"Okay, huh? Do you like Jenny?"

He shrugged again. "She's okay, for a girl."

"Ah," Mrs. Bucket smiled, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

As they neared the gates of the factory, Charlie looked up and his steps slowed. "Mom, does something seem," he hesitated a moment, "different to you?"

"Different?"

"The factory," he pointed, "look at the walls and chimneys."

She shook her head, puzzled.

"They look brighter."

Mrs. Bucket frowned and took a good long look at their new home. "You're right, it doesn't seem as dark as it was. Maybe it's the snow?"

"Maybe," Charlie shrugged. He didn't really believe it was the snow. It looked as if time was turning back for the amazing factory, back to their beginnings when the factory had been a glorious white presence rising above the city, shining with Willy Wonka's bright dreams. As if the factory was once more becoming the place Grandpa Joe had described in his stories.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy Wonka sighed heavily as he entered his factory. Closed! He had officially fired his many workers, loyal and disloyal, and closed his factory down. Forever! The finality of it brought a lump to his throat and made his chest hurt. To have gone so far in reaching the dream of his life and failed. The man pulled his goggle style sunglasses off and dropped them wearily to the floor. What would he do now? What could he do now? He walked slowly away, his footsteps dragging, his shoulders slumped. A failure! "I bet you expected this, Dad, and are glad. Your son, the failure, the nobody. Everyone will forget Wonka Chocolates and Candy. It will not be a slur on the Wonka family name." He rubbed his eyes wearily as he wandered deeper into the massive complex and away from the world, unaware of the events that followed his dark announcement.

The workers of Wonka Worldwide stared, stunned and shocked, their world crumbling as they stood. They waited numbly in front of the closed gates, before slowly at first, then more quickly, their numbers dwindled as they drifted away, wondering what their futures would hold now that the biggest employer in the city was shutdown. Some were quiet, others were grumbling and angry, furious at losing their comfortable, well paid positions. Some of the workers hurried away, with avarice and sly greed burning in their eyes. Wonka's was closed and there would be no more Wonka chocolate, no more Wonka candy. That meant the chocolate and candy still available would soon become worth a great deal of money! They hastened to the stores and shops, intent on buying up every bit and bite that they could with their very last paycheck. Already, their greedy minds were counting up the money they would receive when the rest of the world realized that they had the last of Wonka's delicious confections.

Joe Bucket was the last to leave. Only fitting, he thought sadly, since he had been the first person Wonka's had hired. His heart sat heavy in his chest as his future, his family's future and the future of his friends and co-workers crumbled to dust. He supposed he should have seen it coming, when he'd noticed Wonka's ideas and creations appearing in the shops of the other candy makers. Their young employer had been horrified to realize his recipes were slipping away, out of his hands and into those of his rivals, his candies made with inferior ingredients and sold at higher prices. He had seen with his own eyes, the dark exhaustion sapping Willy Wonka's boundless energy and optimism as he worked feverishly to find the source and stop it. Really, Joe wasn't sure who he felt sorrier for himself and his honest co-workers and their families or Mister Wonka. Really, Wonka had always strived to make everyone happy, to make their work and lives easier. It was as if he needed their approval and support. Perhaps he had. After all, the man could hardly do it all by himself. Still, he had seemed starved for affection, appreciation and esteem.

**- W - C - F -**

The chocolatier shook his head as the flashback faded away. He tried very hard to not think about that horrible moment. For the life of him, he could not understand what had caused that particular memory to rise **now**. It had been so vivid and felt extremely real as if he had actually been back there! Why? And why now? He frowned, deep in thought. Was it because he had allowed people, not just the Oompa-Loompas, to live in the factory? If that was the reason, why had it waited until now to ambush him?

"I trust the Buckets," he exclaimed aloud. He looked down at his puzzled workers. "I really do! I think I need to talk with Edmund." He nodded to himself as he stood up from his work table in the Inventing Room, intent on finding his personal psychologist and discussing the situation with him.


	57. Chapter 56 Return Engagement

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone. 

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter 56** **- Return Engagement**

Edmund watched with bewilderment and concern as Willy Wonka paced back and forth in front of him. Normally, Pataki would have lain down on the couch. He said it was necessary to get the full impact of his therapy. Instead, he was restless and acted as if he couldn't sit still for anything or anyone. This was totally unlike the chocolatier. He scribbled a bit on his pad as Willy continued speaking to himself. Flashbacks to the Factory's closing? That could not be good! And yet, if Willy would finally reveal what had happened during that time, he would do and be so much better. He was always very secretive about the days leading up to the closing and beyond, never sharing a word with even his closest friends among the Oompa-Loompas.

Willy continued pacing, his hands waving in the air. His brow was deeply furrowed as he tried to figure out what it meant. Why and why now? "I trust the Buckets," he whirled around and exclaimed to Edmund who nodded. Pataki could place his heart in the Buckets' hands. All of the Oompa-Loompas were sure of it. They would never do anything to betray their friend.

Edmund waved his hands, attempting to get Pataki's attention. To his consternation and surprise, Willy paused to rub his horn obsessively against the door jamb. Perplexed, Edmund walked over and tugged gently on his trousers. Willy looked down, his eyes troubled. "Why are you doing that?" Edmund signed the question.

"Doing what?" Willy responded, puzzled.

Edmund pointed just as the candy maker started to rub his horn again. He made a soft bleat of surprise and stepped back. His tail was up, vibrating with tension. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the door as if he'd never seen it before. He glanced down at the Oompa-Loompa before shaking his head, a response remarkably like the unicorn he had been, before stalking swiftly through the door and down the hallway. Willy walked restlessly around the Factory, visiting many of the more distant rooms. Periodically, he would unknowingly shake his head or pause to rub his horn against something.

Eventually, Willy Wonka did settle down. Well, he sort of, kind of, maybe settled in the Inventing Room, letting work on the various candies in progress sooth his restless spirit. His practically obsessive compulsion to rub his horn against something was buried under his focused attention, which was all to the good. Lunch was sorely needed since he skipped breakfast and was eaten where he was. The Oompa-Loompas were kind enough not to give him one of the cocoa bean derivative meals. At least some of them had figured out that Willy didn't want or need chocolate or cocoa powder or cocoa something else in every meal. Dessert was okay, but not the meal itself. Even if he did have a cocoa dependency now to stay healthy. Ah ha! That was what he needed to do, Willy nodded to himself, finally remembering while where he needed to be when he remembered. As soon as he finished eating, he gathered the ingredients for his latest invention idea. The candy maker laughed as his current taste tester made a disgusted face. After a few moments passed without any strange aftereffects (aside from faces at the taste), Willy picked up one of the small super-strength cocoa buttons. He sniffed it curiously and turned it over in his fingers. That small button contained packed within itself the entirety of his daily requirement. He took a deep breath and smiled. "Here goes!" He placed the button in his mouth and waited. Now many people, alright, everybody and anybody else would swallow that button down as fast as possible as if it was a pill, which Willy supposed it was in a way. His eyes widened and bulged as the over the top chocolate flavor filled his sensitive taste buds. "Wow! That's strong!" All of the Oompa-Loompas giggled as Fred who had tested the buttons nodded vigorously in agreement. Fred had never dreamed that anything could be too chocolate, but Willy Wonka had achieved it.

Willy giggled as he examined the little buttons. "Think there's a market for these, Fred?" He teased, giggling more as Fred shook his head emphatically. Not even Oompa-Loompas would eat those things, he signed. "Well, if you're sure," Willy continued, "I guess I will be the only one to delight in super-chocolate." He carefully filled a small glass vial with the buttons and sealed it with a glass stopper, dropping in a handy pocket for later. "File that recipe carefully, Fred." Willy handed the card with his notes to his tester. "I'll be making more of these things." Fred bowed his acknowledgment and hurried to comply. He reverently placed the card in the drawer reserved for Wonka's most important recipes, knowing that it was one of the most necessary since it directly affected his dear employer's health and welfare.

**- W - C - F -**

The tiny child ran sobbing up the street, frantically looking over his shoulders for the horrible men who were chasing him. With a gasp, he slid to a stop as he reached the massive abandoned building that hulked over everything. Looking for his pursuers, the boy, barely beyond toddler, wiggled and squirmed through the iron bars of the huge gates. **They** could not follow him here, he thought as he crept up to the towering doors, to huddle in a shadowed corner. No one could. He shifted back as the nasty, mean men ran past, searching for him. Why had they come? Where were his mom and dad? Why did they insist that he had to go with them instead of letting him stay where he belonged, with his grandparents? Even as he thought that, his mind recalled his Grandma Josephine's horrified scream, the sudden gasps and looks of pain that filled his beloved grands' faces. Grandpa George's hand clutched his chest before he fell back on his pillow to lay still and frozen. Shudders filled his tiny frame as tears ran down frozen cheeks. He jerked back as **she** strode into view, standing at the gates with her hands on her hips, her head turning this way and that, as if she could literally sniff him out.

The small child covered his mouth to stifle a choked cry as he fell through a small door at his back. He clawed backwards, away from the opening, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare. He lay still, panting, waiting. As minutes ticked past with no sign his refuge had been discovered, the boy looked around, feeling a tiny niggling of curiosity. He sat up and gaped at the ceiling high, oh so high above him. Small circles of light showed some of the long elegant hallway. He had never seen or dreamed anything like this before! Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet and took a few wobbling steps, his legs feeling weak from his ordeal. A soft, rhythmic tapping sound reached his ears and he whirled around looking for a new hiding place. Who was there? Was it a ghost?! He whimpered softly, wanting nothing more than to cry just then, preferably against his mother's soft shoulder.

Part of him knew, though he had yet to admit it to himself, that he would never see her again. He would never be boosted into the air by his father's strong arms. He would never return to their small home, the only place he had known, ever again. His momma and daddy were gone and the people who had come were taking his grands' away. Maybe Momma and Daddy were ghosts and would come visit the ghost of the Factory and maybe he could see them again then. If the ghost would let him stay . . . With that thought, the young child stilled and tried to stand straight, wondering how do you beg a ghost to let you stay in his home. He hoped, a slender finger slipping into his mouth, that he wasn't a scary looking ghost, even as the tapping noise became stronger and louder. His eyes grew huge as a shadow appeared, stretching before him. He didn't know ghosts could have shadows, he thought, even as a tall man in a top hat, cane tapping on the red carpet came into view.

Man and child stared at each other in utter shock. The man was a curious sight to see, with a black velvet frock coat reaching his knees. His brown hair was long, longer than any person the boy had ever seen. Straight, oh so very straight, it almost reached the bottom hem of his long soft coat, spreading out over the man's shoulders, looking remarkably like a cape, Was this the ghost? He was certainly pale enough to be one. Charlie Bucket opened his mouth once or twice, before managing to make a sound. "Please," he whispered softly.

The ghost's head tilted curiously to one side. "Please what?" He replied in a rusty tenor.

Charlie took heart at the words. "Please, Mr. Ghost, may I stay here?"

Willy sat up with a gasp, shaking his head in confusion. What a most peculiar dream! He blinked his eyes, trying to see clearly, only to realize he was not in his bedroom as he expected to be. He inhaled and felt his thumping heart slow as the rich, sweet aroma of pure melted chocolate filled his lungs. The strange twisting shapes around him settled into the familiarity of the Chocolate Room. Vaguely, he recalled begging out of dinner with the Buckets before roaming the hallways and rooms of his factory until finally coming here, hoping it would soothe him. Apparently he had fallen asleep in a Willy sized hollow near the river. Absently, he plucked a blade of swudge lodged in his hair and sucked on it, the delicious mint filling his mouth as it melted to nothing.

"Ha!" He faked a laugh, though no one was there to hear him, for it was very early or very late, depending on one's point of view. He stretched and leaned on his hands only to pick one up with a start. Willy looked down, expecting to see a candy branch, only to find a long pointed object that was curiously spiraled. He frowned as he picked it up and examined it carefully. One hand reached up to touch his forehead. He smiled as he realized he had finally shed the unicorn's horn, only to frown as something curled forward and tickled his neck. He peeked over his shoulder and sighed. The tail remained, expressively and very much there . With a resigned shrug, Willy lay back down in his hollow and wiggled to get comfortable. He stared up, his head cushioned by his hands, contemplating the candy stars as he considered his dream. He knew, though he could not say how, that in the world of his dream, he had never found the Oompa-Loompas and never re-opened his factory. He had lived very much and horribly alone in the silent rooms of his dead dreams until an extremely young Charlie had stumbled inside. He blinked as he wondered what would have happened if that had been reality. He knew, or at least hoped, that the young child would stay with him. He smirked as he imagined authorities trying to figure out where the youngest Bucket had vanished. He sighed as he considered and wondered if Charlie would be the driving force to drag him out of his factory and back into life. He imagined going to court to win custody of the orphan. Of course, that would lead to school and all the other things that small children eventually grew into. What would that world have been like? Willy's eyes slid shut as he drifted back to a deep sleep, his tail twitched slightly before curling until his nose was buried under the soft tuft on the end.

**- W - C - F -**

Willy slept later than he normally would, only waking when his employees arrived in the Chocolate Room and began to ready for work. The Oompa-Loompas giggled as they found Willy no longer had his horn, but still retained his tail. With a huge stretch, the chocolatier stood, picking up his hat and placing it properly on his head. He reclaimed his cane and hesitated before plucking his horn from its resting place, considering it with careful curiosity. Maybe Charlie would like to have it, he thought before nodding to himself. At Charlie's age, he had loved to collect odd things, though most of them had not made it past his father's sharp eyes. Eventually, he had created a hiding place. He wondered what had happened to his little stash. He hadn't thought of it in years! Was it still there, waiting for him to reclaim it? Perhaps he and Charlie could go check this weekend. It would be interesting to see what had survived and if there was anything worth bringing back to the Factory. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten nearly enough the day before. He checked his pocket watch, sighing as he realized Charlie would already be at school. He certainly had slept late! His stomach growled again, louder, making the nearest Oompa-Loompas giggle and hide. As if he would eat them! Ha! He stuck his tongue out at them, before strolling toward the main entrance, wondering if Mrs. Bucket would mind some company. He could just as easily fix breakfast there as his quarters and he smiled as he realized he didn't want to eat alone. The thought put a bounce to his step as the restlessness and his peculiar flashback faded to unimportance. He trusted the Buckets to keep his secrets. He really did! His tail curled happily behind his back as he knocked on the door to the Ivy Suite. He paused as he wondered if he should have changed first and cleaned up a bit, but then it was too late. Mrs. Bucket opened the door and beckoned him inside with a warm, welcoming smile.

**- W - C - F -**

The chocolatier was finishing up his latest modifications to the Everlasting Gobstoppers when he suddenly froze. His tail lashed as memories of the Factory's closing flashed through his mind, before he frowned as one thought settled to the fore. He had to find Charlie Bucket and Mrs. Bucket! Nothing more and certainly nothing less would do! Unquestioning of the sudden impulse, Willy abandoned his work and raced for the Great Glass Elevator. He stopped himself from slamming into the doors with one hand. His tail twitched irritably as it sped for the front hallway. There, his large greatcoat hid his tail and stilled its angry lashing as he pulled it on and settled it properly, before walking swiftly out the front doors. A quick glance to make sure no one was watching and he was out on the street, hurrying as fast as he could without actually running.

Fury filled violet eyes, turning them almost red, as he took in the sight before him. Charlie and a small girl were hiding behind Mrs. Bucket, her arms stretched protectively wide as a man threatened them with a knife. Willy growled silently as he slipped with uncanny care through the bushes and trees, working his way closer and closer still. Ancient anger rose to join his angry concern for the Buckets and the girl. His cane flashed forth to block a blow from the sharp blade as he stepped between Mrs. Bucket and the strangely familiar man who stared back with a furious scowl. The man bared his teeth as he slashed at the newcomer only to be thwarted once more by a swift move of the cane. Willy twitched his shoulders, settling lightly on the balls of his feet, ready to move whichever way necessary to protect the others from that dangerous blade. The stranger tried to get around him and Mrs. Bucket to grab Jenny by the arm. She screamed as Willy lithely spun and blocked the man, pushing him back hard, the head of his cane striking his arm with bruising force.

The two men glared hard at each other. Willy's head tilted slightly as a tiny bubble of curiosity and memory rose. "Have we met?" He wondered aloud.

The man gasped suddenly and stumbled back from the chocolatier, his eyes were wide with terror. "No! It can't be! You're dead!" He protested before running away in alarm.

Willy blinked and looked back at Charlie and Mrs. Bucket. "I don't feel dead," he started, only to freeze. He blinked and stared after the fleeing man, taking one step forward. "I remember you," Willy hissed coldly and would have followed if Jenny hadn't begun sobbing. The candy maker could never bear to see children crying, not even as a child himself. He turned back and clucked anxiously as Mrs. Bucket gathered the frightened child in her arms.

Charlie grabbed hold of Willy. "Thank you!" He whispered into the soft, curly fur of his wool greatcoat. "Willy! How did you know?" He looked up at his friend and managed to smile in spite of the recent scare. Wonka didn't get a chance to respond as police arrived and questions began to fly. The questioners focused intently on the adults, leaving the children pressed close to them as they listened carefully to the words flowing over their heads. Jenny and Charlie exchanged telling looks before the recluse finally had enough and interrupted the flow.

"I know who he is!" Willy exclaimed loudly. "He used to work for me. His name is Bob Miller." He nodded to emphasis his words as the investigating detectives stared at him in surprise.

"Can you tell us anything else, Mr. . . ." The woman detective let her words trail off, waiting for the man to finally identify himself.

"Wonka," Willy snapped, "yes, that Wonka!" He responded to everyone's shock and rubbed his chin as he thought. "He lived on Apple Terrace as I recall, probably still does." He looked down at Charlie's curious, anxious eyes. "I think he was one of the spies. Actually, I think he must've been with that lot that broke in after I closed the factory. I think they're the only ones who really thought I was dead."

Charlie tugged on his friend's sleeve, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

Willy sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Gosh darn it, Charlie, you don't want to know."

"Yes, I do!" Charlie's chin came up as he stared stubbornly up at the candy maker.

Willy glanced hopefully at Mrs. Bucket, but seeing an almost identical expression on her face, knew he could not win this particular battle. He ran a purple gloved hand through his hair. Unseen by any one, except Charlie (fortunately), a pointed ear peeked briefly out to twitch anxiously, before Willy's nervous fidgeting with his hair hid it once more. "A group of spies, I think there were four of them, though I suppose there might have been more since I never actually saw them, broke into the factory after I closed it." One of the detectives was scribbling quickly in his pad as the billionaire spoke. "They wanted to make me give up the rest of my recipes. Of course, I tried to get away from them, but one of them hit me on the head." He touched a spot behind his right ear and shivered imperceptably. "I think I heard one of them saying something about they weren't suppose to kill me before I blacked out. They were gone when I woke up. I stumbled to my office and found they had trashed the place. Later, when I recovered, I found they had searched everywhere they knew in the factory." He sighed and shrugged. "It was a big mess to clean up and I never . . ." Willy snapped his mouth shut on his words, glancing down at Charlie from the side of one eye. He'd never managed to get the blood out of the wood flooring of the auditorium ballroom where they had dragged his body, but Charlie did not need to know that. He hadn't been there since he'd tried, not wanting to remember as he knew he would every time he set foot inside and saw the stain. He wondered if the Oompa-Loompas, curious and mischievous as they were, had found the spot and managed to clean it up. They were so clever about such things that they might have succeeded where he had failed.

The silence that followed was broken by a young officer. "I found an address for a Robert Miller on Apple Terrace," he offered a piece of paper to the senior officer.

The detective stared at it thoughtfully. "Let's get units there immediately, unmarked, no lights or sirens. Maybe we can catch Mr. Miller before he tries to leave town."

"Oh, he can't do that," Willy stated softly, earning surprised looks from everyone else. "Bob Miller has some rather large gambling debts and the holders would not appreciate him trying to leave at all." He smirked. "I did some investigating afterwards and found out lots of interesting things about some of my employees. I've kept track of select ones all these years." He nodded. "That's why he stole my secrets. He had to pay them off."

"Surely he would have paid those debts off a long time ago," Detective Rachel Burns said.

"Of course, but he's a chronic gambler." Willy Wonka shook his head sadly. "I would have helped him. All he had to do was ask, that was all any of them had to do." He stared off into the distance for a moment. "I would have helped him break his habit, but I guess he didn't want to and now he's trying to kidnap little girls to pay them off." Willy knelt carefully in front of the children. "Jenny, does your mo-mom or dad know a Mr. Miller?"

She nodded immediately, still staring at the strange man in front of her. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity and excitement. "Dad mentioned a Miller cleaning his office sometimes." She stepped closer. "Are you really Mr. Wonka?" At the man's nod, she could not restrain herself any longer. Jenny threw her arms around Willy in a big hug. "I love your candy! Thank you for saving us! I'm sorry about the spies. Are you Charlie's friend? Does he live with you now?"

Willy found himself blinking at the flood of words, even as he awkwardly patted the child's back. Thank goodness Charlie had taught him about hugs! But . . . "What makes you think I know Charlie?" He asked as she paused for a breath.

Jenny had to giggle at that. "You knew his name!" She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her giggles at his silliness.

Willy tilted his head as he considered this and her. "And what makes you think he might live with me? Him and Mr. and Mrs. Bucket?"

The girl nodded at him. Of course, Charlie's parents lived with him too! "His clothes are nicer and he doesn't look hungry all the time." She smiled brightly at the man in front of her, even as the rest of the adults looked startled. She looked down suddenly, flushing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry I wasn't nicer to him before he saved me from that mean man. I-I should have been. I'm sorry, Charlie!" She looked at her newest friend with sad eyes.

Charlie stared at her and read the truth there as only children can. "We're friends now," he answered and smiled, dimples showing. To Willy's relief, Jenny's attention immediately transferred to Charlie Bucket. Or almost did!

"How did you meet? Mr. Wonka never comes out and why do you live with him?"

Fortunately, Mrs. Bucket, seeing the curiosity in everyone's eyes, intervened with logic only adults could achieve. "My father-in-law, Charlie's grandfather, worked for Willy," she stated. "Actually, he was the first employee at the Wonka Candy Shop. When Willy heard about us losing our home, he graciously opened his to us."

"Your first and you trusted him, because he was like Charlie and you knew you could," Jenny added with a smile.

"And, obviously, I do come out," Willy continued. "I'm out now! It's not my fault that people don't notice what's in front of their noses."

"Of course, sir. How foolish of me." Jenny curtseyed to the chocolatier.

Willy responded with a gallant bow before looking pointedly at the police officers watching them. "Don't you have someone to catch?" He smirked slightly as they suddenly started to move. Some of them began checking the ground nearby, looking for evidence. Others headed for their cars.

Detective Sam Carr, within months of his retirement, dared to direct his attention to the recluse. "We may need to question you again, Mr. Wonka, and the Buckets as well. How can we reach you?" He paused with his pen poised over his pad, waiting.

"Oh for," Willy searched his pockets before finally finding, long ignored and nearly forgotten, a cream colored business card. It was somewhat faded with age but still perfectly legible and useful if you needed to reach the owner of Wonka Worldwide. He handed the card bearing the precious information in elegant, formal script. "You may call me at that number. I believe you already have the Bucket's contact information." He pointed toward his factory. "You may also use the doorbell." With a nod to the larger man, Willy herded the children together. "Mrs. Bucket and I will see Jenny and Charlie home. Good day, officers."

Willy and Mrs. Bucket walked up the street with the children skipping in front of them. Jennifer had reached over and taken Charlie's hand in hers, much to his embarrassment and his friend and mother's amusement. The chocolatier tapped his cane on the sidewalk, deep in thought. "Well, I guess that explains the flashback," he muttered to himself. Only Mrs. Bucket heard him.

Just as quietly, she asked in concern. "What flashback?"

"About closing the factory," Willy responded after a moment's hesitation. "I must have been remembering Miller."

Jenny led the way up the steps in front of one of the many identical town homes. Charlie's brow furrowed with his puzzlement. "I thought you lived further," he pointed up the street.

"Mrs. Tompkins isn't home this afternoon," Mrs. Bucket answered. "Jenny is staying with her great aunt until her parents return."

Jenny nodded as she pushed the doorbell. A few minutes later, it was opened by a small, elderly woman with silver blue hair and vivid blue eyes. Willy blinked at her for a moment. "One french vanilla truffle every Saturday morning," Willy said abruptly even as he reached into his pocket and pulled one out, holding it out for the woman. "I remember. Your husband came by every week to get one for you while the shop was open."

Mrs. Tompkins looked at the young man consideringly. "My, I haven't seen you in a very long time, Mr. Wonka." She accepted the offering with a sweet smile. "I haven't had one of these in a very long time either."

"How is Mr. Tompkins?" Willy asked.

"Oh my, dear, he passed away about ten years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Tompkins. He was one of my best and most regular customers." Willy removed his hat and placed it against his chest to show his respect for his departed customer.

"We were together and he was happy. His only regret was that he couldn't give me one more of your delicious truffles." She smiled at the sweet in her hand. "And now his wish has come true. I have one more. Thank you, dear. You are such a sweet young man, just like your candies and chocolate."

Willy felt a blush touch his cheeks and his tail move in its hiding place under his great coat. "I'll send one by every Saturday morning."

"You don't have to do that," Mrs. Tompkins responded.

"But I want to," Willy bowed with a wink. "Now, you must excuse us ladies, I must see the Buckets safely home and take care of business. Adieu." He escorted Charlie and Mrs. Bucket away with a sigh of relief. "I didn't expect that," he commented as he looked back and answered a wave from Jenny with one of his own. "I haven't thought about that couple in ages!"

Charlie skipped to keep up with the taller adults. He looked up at his friend, concerned by what he had revealed earlier and also curious. "What happened to your horn?" The boy inquired in a soft tone so no one could overhear.

Willy bent slightly to answer. "It fell off last night. It's on my desk right now. I thought you might like to keep it."

"Really?" Charlie was surprised. "Don't you want it? A unicorn horn is special and magic."

"Truly, if you want it, Charlie."

"Of course! Thank you! You're not mad, are you?" At Willy's puzzled look, he explained. "About people knowing you're coming outside your factory and us staying with you?"

"Ah," Willy nodded and considered the situation. "Well, I suppose it was bound to get out sometime. You certainly didn't hire Mr. Miller to attack you." He paused and looked down at his young friend. "Did you?"

Charlie had to laugh. "Of course not!"

"I, for one, am very grateful, Willy," Mrs. Bucket added. "I shudder to think what might have happened!"

"No horn or tail, so I guess you can meet me in the park again," Charlie said as they entered the Factory's great hallway.

"Ah well, I still have the tail," Willy admitted as he removed his outside coat, revealing the appendage in question.

Charlie smiled at the sight. "Did you know your ears are pointed?" He asked as he remembered the glimpse he'd gotten earlier.

Pointed? Willy felt under hair and was startled when he felt his ear twitch under his gentle touch. He shifted his hair to reveal them and peered curiously in the reflective surface of a gleaming light fixture. "So they are. Huh? Who would have guessed?" He twitched one slightly noting a soft fuzz of fur on it.

"It's a good thing your hair is long enough to hide them," Charlie commented as he followed Willy toward his office. Mrs. Bucket nodded in agreement, wondering how they would have explained if someone else had seen them, before she continued to the Ivy Suite as the two friends went inside to examine the length of unicorn horn.


End file.
